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THE

DATS OF -BRUCE;

tnnj

SCOTTISH HISTOEY

BY

GRACE AGUILAR,

AUTHOR OF " HOME INFLUENCE,"^" THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE,"
"WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP," "THE VALE OF CEDARS,"

ETC. ETC.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.

MDCCCLII.

PREFACE,

As these pages have passed through the press, min-
gled feelings of pain and pleasure have actuated my
heart. Who shall speak the regret that she, to whom
its composition was a work of love, cannot participate
in the joy which its publication would have occasion-
ed— who shall tell of that anxious pleasure which I feel
in witnessing the success of each and all the efforts of
her pen ?

THE DAYS OF BBUCE must be considered as an en-
deavor to place before the reader an interesting nar-
rative of a period of history, in itself a romance, and
one perhaps as delightful as could well have been se-
lected. In combination with the story of Scotland's
brave deliverer, it must be viewed as an illustration
of female character, and descriptive of much that its
Author considered excellent in woman. In the high-
minded Isabella of Buchan is traced the resignation
of a heart wounded in its best affections, yet trustful
midst accumulated misery. In Isoline may be seen

VI PREFACE.

the self-inflicted unhappiness of a too confident and
self-reliant nature ; while in Agnes is delineated the
overwhelming of a mind too much akin to heaven in
purity and innocence to battle with the stern and bitter
sorrows with which her life is strewn.

How far the merits of this work may be perceived
becomes not me to judge ; I only know and feel that
on me has devolved the endearing task of publishing
the writings of my lamented child — that I am fulfilling
the desire of her life.

SAEAH AGUILAK.

May, 1852.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE,

CHAPTER I.

THE month of March, rough and stormy as it is in England,
would perhaps be deemed mild and beautiful as May by those
accustomed to meet and brave its fury in the eastern High-
lands, nor would the evening on which our tale commences
bely its wild and fitful character.

The wind howled round the ancient Tower of Buchan, hi
alternate gusts of wailing and of fury, so mingled with the
deep, heavy roll of the lashing waves, that it was impossible
to distinguish the roar of the one element from the howl of the
other. Neither tree, hill, nor wood intercepted the rushing
gale, to change the dull monotony of its gloomy tone. The
Ythan, indeed, darted by, swollen and turbid from continued
storms, threatening to overflow the barren plain it watered, but
its voice was undistinguishable amidst the louder wail of wind
and ocean. Pine-trees, dark, ragged, and stunted, and scat-
tered so widely apart that each one seemed monarch of some
thirty acres, were the only traces of vegetation for miles round.
Nor were human habitations more abundant ; indeed, few dwell-
ings, save those of such solid masonry as the Tower of Buchan,
could hope to stand scathless amidst the storms that in winter
ever swept along the moor.

No architectural beauty distinguished the residence of the
Earls of Buchan ; none of that tasteful decoration peculiar to
the Saxon, nor of the more sombre yet more imposing style
introduced by the Norman, and known as the Gothic archi-
tecture.

• Originally a hunting-lodge, it had been continually enlarged
by succeeding lords, without any regard either to symmetry or
proportion, elegance or convenience ; and now, early in the

8 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

year 1306, appeared within its outer walls as a most hetero-
geneous mass of ill-shaped turrets, courts, offices, and galleries,
huddled together in ill-sorted confusion, though presenting to
the distant view a massive square building, remarkable only for
a strength and solidity capable of resisting alike the war of ele-
ments and of man.

Without all seemed a dreary wilderness, but within existed
indisputable signs of active life. The warlike inhabitants of
the tower, though comparatively few in number, were contin-
ually passing to and fro in the courts and galleries, or congre-
gating in little knots, in eager converse. Some cleansing their
armor or arranging banners ; others, young and active, prac-
tising the various manoeuvres of mimic war ; each and all
bearing on their brow that indescribable expression of antici-
pation and excitement which seems ever on the expectant of
it knows not what. The condition of Scotland was indeed
such as to keep her sons constantly on the alert, preparing for
defence or attack, as the insurging efforts of the English or
the commands of their lords should determine. From the
richest noble to the veriest serf, the aged man to the little
child, however contrary their politics and feelings, one spirit
actuated all, and that spirit was war — war in all its deadliest
evils, its unmitigated horrors, for it was native blood which
deluged the rich plains, the smiling vales, and fertile hills of
Scotland.

Although the castle of Buchan resembled more a citadel
intended for the accommodation of armed vassals than the com-
modious dwelling of feudal lords, one turret gave evidence, by
its internal arrangement, of a degree of refinement and a nearer
approach to comfort than its fellows, and seeming to proclaim
that within its massive walls the lords of the castle were ac-
customed to reside. The apartments were either hung with
heavy tapestry, which displayed, in gigantic proportions, the
combats of the Scots and Danes, or panelled with polished
oak, rivalling ebony in its glossy blackness, inlaid with solid
silver. Heavy draperies of damask fell from the ceiling to the
floor at every window, a pleasant guard, indeed, from the con-
stant winds which found entrance through many creaks and
corners of the Gothic casements, but imparting a dingy aspecj,
to apartments lordly in their dimensions, and somewhat rich
ia decoration.

THE DAYS OF BKTTCE. 9

The deep embrasures of the casements were thus in a man-
ner severed from the main apartment, for even when the cur-
tains were completely lowered there was space enough to con-
tain a chair or two and a table. The furniture corresponded
in solidity and proportion to the panelling or tapestry of the
walls ; nor was there any approach even at those doubtful
comforts already introduced in the more luxurious Norman cas-
tles of South Britain.

The group, however, assembled in one of these ancient
rooms needed not the aid of adventitious ornament to betray
the nobility of birth, and those exalted and chivalric feelings
inherent to their rank. The sun, whose stormy radiance dur-
ing the day had alternately deluged earth and sky with fitful
yet glorious brilliance, and then, burying itself in the dark
masses of overhanging clouds, robed every object in deepest
gloom, now seemed to concentrate his departing rays in one
living flood of splendor, and darting within the chamber, lin-
gered in crimson glory around the youthful form of a gentle
girl, dyeing her long and clustering curls with gold. Slightly
bending over a large and cumbrous frame which supported her
embroidery, her attitude could no more conceal the grace and
lightness of her childlike form, than the glossy ringlets the
soft and radiant features which they shaded. There was arch-
ness lurking in those dark blue eyes, to which tears seemed
yet a stranger ; the clear and snowy forehead, the full red lip,
and health-bespeaking cheek had surely seen but smiles, and
mirrored but the joyous light which tilled her gentle heart.
Her figure seemed to speak a child, but there was a something
in that face, bright, glowing as it was, which yet would tell of
somewhat more than childhood — that seventeen summers had
done their work, and taught that guileless heart a sterner tale
than gladness.

A young man, but three or four years her senior, occupied
an embroidered settle at her feet. In complexion, as in the
color of his hair and eyes, there was similarity between them,
but the likeness went no further, nor would the most casual
observer have looked on them as kindred. Fair and lovely as
the maiden would even have been pronounced, it was perhaps
more the expression, the sweet innocence that characterized
her features which gave to them their charm ; but in the
young man there was infinitely more than this, though effem-

1*

10 THE DATS OF BRUOE.

inate as was his complexion, and the bright sunny curls which
floated over his throat, he was eminently and indescribably
beautiful, for it was the mind, the glorious mind, the kindling
spirit which threw their radiance over his perfect features ;
the spirit and mind which that noble form enshrined stood
apart, and though he knew it not himself, found not their
equal in that dark period of warfare and of woe. The sword
and lance were the only instruments of the feudal aristocracy ;
ambition, power, warlike fame, the principal occupants of their
thoughts ; the chase, the tourney, or the foray, the relaxation
of their spirits. But unless that face deceived, there was more,
much more, which characterized the elder youth within that
chamber.

A large and antique volume of Norse legends rested on his
knee, which, in a rich, manly voice, he was reading aloud to
his companion, diversifying his lecture with remarks and ex-
planations, which, from the happy smiles and earnest attention
of the maiden, appeared to impart the pleasure intended by
the speaker. The other visible inhabitant of the apartment
was a noble-looking boy of about fifteen, far less steadily em-
ployed than his companions, for at one time he was poising a
heavy lance, and throwing himself into the various attitudes of
a finished warrior ; at others, brandished a two-handed sword,
somewhat taller than himself; then glancing over the shoul-
der of his sister — for so nearly was he connected with the
maiden, though the raven curls, the bright flashing eye of jet,
and darker skin, appeared to forswear such near relationship —
criticising her embroidery, and then transferring his scrutiny
to the strange figures on the gorgeously-illuminated manu-
script, and then for a longer period listening, as it were, irre-
sistibly to the wild legends which that deep voice was so me-
lodiously pouring forth.

" It will never do, Agnes. You cannot embroider the cor-
onation of Kenneth MacAlpine and listen to these wild tales
at one and the same time. Look at your clever pupil, Sir Ni-
gel ; she is placing a heavy iron buckler on the poor king's
head instead of his golden crown." The boy laughed kmo-
and merrily as he spoke, and even Sir Nigel smiled ; while
Agnes, blushing and confused, replied, half jestingly and half
earnestly, •' And why not tell me of it before, Alan ? you must
have seen it long ago."

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 11

" And so I did, sweet sister mine ; but I wished to see the
effect of such marvellous abstraction, and whether, in case of
necessity, an iron shield would serve our purpose as well as a
jewelled diadem."

" Never fear, my boy. Let but the king stand forth, and
there will be Scottish men enow and willing to convert an iron
buckler into a goodly crown ;" and as Sir Nigel spoke his eyes
flashed, and his whole countenance irradiated with a spirit that
might not have been suspected when in the act of reading, but
which evidently only slept till awakened by an all-sufficient
call. " Let the tyrant Edward exult in the possession of our
country's crown and sceptre — he may find we need not them
to make a king ; aye, and a king to snatch the regal diadem
from the proud usurper's brow — the Scottish sceptre from his
blood-stained hands !"

" Thou talkest wildly, Nigel," answered the lad, sorrowfully,
his features assuming an expression of judgment and feeling
beyond his years. "Who is there in Scotland will do this
thing ? who will dare again the tyrant's rage ? Is not this un-
happy country divided within itself, and how may it resist the
foreign foe ?"

" Wallace ! think of Wallace ! Did he not well-nigh wrest
our country from the tyrant's hands ? And is there not one to
follow in the path he trod — no noble heart to do what he hath
done ?"

" Nigel, yes. Let but the rightful king stand forth, and
were there none other, I — even I, stripling as I am, with my
good sword and single arm, even with the dark blood of Comyn
in my veins, Alan of Buchan, would join him, aye, and die for
him f"

" There spoke the blood of Duff, and not of Comyn !" burst
impetuously from the lips of Nigel, as he grasped the strip-
ling's ready hand ; " and doubt not, noble boy, there are other
hearts in Scotland bold and true as thine ; and even as Wallace,
one will yet arise to wake them from their stagnant sleep, and
give them freedom."

"Wallace," said the maiden, fearfully ; "ye talk of Wallace,
of his bold deeds and bolder heart, but bethink ye of his fate.
Oh, were it not better to be still than follow in his steps unto
the scaffold ?"

" Dearest, no ; better the scaffold and the axe, aye, even the

12 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

iron chains and hangman's cord, than the gilded fetters of a
tyrant's yoke. Shame on thee, sweet Agnes, to counsel
thoughts as these, and thou a Scottish maiden." Yet even as
he spoke chidingly, the voice of Nigel became soft and thril-
ling, even as it had before been bold and daring.

" I fear me, Nigel, I have but little of my mother's blood
within my veins. I cannot bid them throb and bound as hers
with patriotic love and warrior fire. A lowly cot with him I
loved were happiness for me."

" But that cot must rest upon a soil unchained, sweet Agnes,
or joy could have no resting there. Wherefore did Scotland
rise against her tyrant — why struggle as she hath to fling aside
her chains ? Was it her noble sons ? Alas, alas ! degenerate
and base, they sought chivalric fame ; forgetful of their coun-
try, they asked for knighthood from proud Edward's hand,
regardless that that hand had crowded fetters on their father-
land, and would enslave their sons. Not to them did Scotland
owe the transient gleam of glorious light which, though extin-
guished in the patriot's blood, hath left its trace behind. With
the bold, the hardy, lowly Scot that gleam had birth ; they
would be free to them. What mattered that their tyrant was
a valiant knight, a worthy son of chivalry : they saw but an
usurper, an enslaver, and they rose and spurned his smiles —
aye, and they will rise again. And wert thou one of them,
sweet girl, a cotter's wife, thou too wouldst pine for freedom.
Yes ; Scotland will bethink her of her warrior's fate, and shout
aloud revenge for Wallace !"

Either his argument was unanswerable, or the energy of his
voice and manner carried conviction with them, but a brighter
glow mantled the maiden's cheek, and with it stole the momen-
tary shame — the wish, the simple words that she had spoken
could be recalled.

" Give us but a king for whom to fight — a king to love, re-
vere, obey— a king from whose hand knighthood were an hon-
or, precious as life itself, and there are noble hearts enough to
swear fealty to him, and bright swords ready to defend his
throne," said the young heir of Buchan, as he brandished his
own weapon above his head, and then rested his arms upon its
broad hilt, despondingly. "But where is that king? Men
speak of my most gentle kinsman Sir John Comyn, called the
Ked— bah ! The sceptre were the same jewelled bauble in his

THE DAYS OF BKUCE.. 13

impotent hand as in his sapient uncle's ; a gem, a toy, forsooth,
the loan of crafty Edward. No! the Red Comyn is no king
for Scotland ; and who is there besides ? The rightful heir — a
cold, dull-blooded neutral — a wild and wavering changeling.
I pray thee be not angered, Nigel ; it cannot be gainsaid, e'en
though he is thy brother."

" I know it Alan ; know it but too well," answered Nigel,
sadly, though the dark glow rushed up to cheek and brow.
" Yet Robert's blood is hot enough. His deeds are plunged in
mystery — his words not less so ; yet I cannot look on him as
thou dost, as, alas ! too many do. It may be that I love him
all too well ; that dearer even than Edward, than all the rest,
has Robert ever been to me. He knows it not ; for, sixteen
years my senior, he has ever held me as a child taking little
heed of his wayward course ; and yet my heart has throbbed
beneath his word, his look, as if he were not what he seemed,
but would — but must be something more."

" I ever thought thee but a wild enthusiast, gentle Nigel,
and this confirms it. Mystery, aye, such mystery as ever
springs from actions at variance with reason, judgment, valor
— with all that frames the patriot. Would that thou wert the
representative of thy royal line ; wert thou in Earl Robert's
place, thus, thus would Alan kneel to thee and hail thee king !"

" Peace, peace, thou foolish boy, the crown and sceptre have
no charm for me ; let me but see my country free, the tyrant
humbled, my brother as my trusting spirit whispers he shall
be, and Nigel asks no more."

" Art thou indeed so modest, gentle Nigel — is thy happiness
so distinct from self ? thine eyes tell other tales sometimes, and
speak they false, fair sir ?

Timidly, yet irresistibly, the maiden glanced up from her
embroidery, but the gaze that met hers caused those bright
eyes to fall more quickly than they were raised, and vainly for
a few seconds did she endeavor so to steady her hand as to re-
sume her task. Nigel was, however, spared reply, for a sharp
and sudden bugle-blast reverberated through the tower, and
with an exclamation of wondering inquiry Alan bounded from
the chamber. There was one other inmate of that apartment,
whose presence, although known and felt, had, as was evident,
been no restraint either to the employments or the sentiments
of the two youths and their companion. Their conversation

14 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

had not passed unheeded, although it had elicited no comment
or rejoinder. The Countess of Buchan stood within one of
those deep embrasures we have noticed, at times glancing to-
wards the youthful group with an earnestness of sorrowing
affection that seemed to have no measure in its depth, no shrink-
ino- in its might ; at others, fixing a long, unmeaning, yet some-
what anxious gaze on the wide plain and distant ocean, which
the casement overlooked.

It was impossible to look once on the countenance of Isabella
of Buchan, and yet forbear to look again. The calm dignity,
the graceful majesty of her figure seemed to mark her as one
bora to command, to hold in willing homage the minds and in-
clinations of men ; her pure, pale brow and marble cheek — for
the rich rose seemed a stranger there — the long silky lash of
jet, the large, full, black eye, in its repose so soft that few
would guess how it could flash fire, and light up those classic
features with power to stir the stagnant souls of thousands and
guide them with a word. She looked in feature as in form a
queen ; fitted to be beloved, formed to be obeyed. Her heavy
robe of dark brocade, wrought with thick threads of gold,
seemed well suited to her majestic form ; its long, loose folds
detracting naught from the graceful ease of her carriage. Her
thick, glossy hair, vying in its rich blackness with the raven's
wing, was laid in smooth bands upon her stately brow, and
gathered up behind in a careless knot, confined with a bodkin
of massive gold. The hood or coif, formed of curiously twisted
black and golden threads, which she wore in compliance with
the Scottish custom, that thus made the distinction between
the matron and the maiden, took not from the peculiarly grace-
ful form of the head, nor in any part concealed the richness of
the hair. Calm and pensive as was the general expression of
her countenance, few could look upon it without that peculiar
sensation of respect, approaching to awe, which restrained and
conquered sorrow ever calls for. Perchance the cause of such
emotion was all too delicate, too deeply veiled to be defined by
those' rude hearts who were yet conscious of its existence ; and
for them it was enough to own her power, bow before it, and
fear her as a being set apart.

Musingly she had stood looking forth on the wide waste ;
the distant ocean, whose tumbling waves one moment gleamed
m living light, at others immersed in inky blackness, were

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 15

scarcely distinguished from the lowering sky. The moaning
winds swept by, bearing the storm-cloud on their wings ;
patches of blue gleamed strangely and brightly forth ; and, far
in the west, crimson and amber, and pink and green, inlaid in
beautiful mosaic the departing luminary's place of rest.

" Alas, my gentle one," she had internally responded to her
daughter's words, " if thy mother's patriot heart could find no
shield for woe, nor her warrior fire, as thou deemest it, guard
her from woman's trials, what will be thy fate ? This is no
time for happy love, for peaceful joys, returned as it may be ;
for — may I doubt that truthful brow, that knightly soul (her
glance was fixed on Nigel) — yet not now may the Scottish
knight find rest and peace in woman's love. And better is it
thus — the land of the slave is no home for love."

A faint yet a beautiful smile, dispersing as a momentary beam
the anxiety stamped on her features, awoke at the enthusiastic
reply of Nigel. Then she turned again to the casement, for
her quick eye had discerned a party of about ten horsemen ap-
proaching in the direction of the tower, and on the summons of
the bugle she advanced from her retreat to the centre of the
apartment.

" Why, surely thou art but a degenerate descendant of the
brave Macduff, mine Agnes, that a bugle blast should thus send-
back every drop of blood to thy little heart," she said, play-
fully. "For shame, for shame! how art thou fitted to be
a warrior's bride? They are but Scottish men, and true,
methinks, if I recognize their leader rightly. And it is even
so."

"Sir Robert Keith, right welcome," she added, as, mar-
shalled by young Alan, the knight appeared, bearing his
plumed helmet in his hand, and displaying haste and eager-
ness alike in his flushed features and soiled armor.

" Ye have ridden long and hastily. Bid them hasten our
evening meal, my son ; or stay, perchance Sir Robert needs
thine aid to rid him of this garb of war. Thou canst not serve
one nobler."

" Nay, noble lady, knights must don, not doff their armor
now. I bring ye news, great, glorious news, which will not
brook delay. A royal messenger I come, charged by his grace
my king — my country's king — with missives to his friends, call-
ing on all who spurn a tyrant's yoke — who love their land,

1(3 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

their homes, their freedom— on all who^wish for Wallace— to
awake, arise, and join their patriot king !"

" Of whom speakest thou, Sir Robert Keith ? I charge thee,
speak !" exclaimed Nigel, starting from the posture of dignified
reserve with which he had welcome^ the knight, and springing
towards him.

" The patriot and the king ! — of whom canst thou speak ?
said Alan, at the same instant. "Thine are, in very truth,
marvellous tidings, Sir Knight ; an' thou canst call up one to
unite such names, and worthy of them, he shall not call on me
in vain."

" Is he not worthy, Alan of Buchan, who thus flings down
the gauntlet, who thus dares the fury of a mighty sovereign,
and with a handful of brave men prepares to follow in the steps
of Wallace, to the throne or to the scaffold ?"

" Heed not my reckless boy, Sir Robert," said the countess,
earnestly, as the eyes of her son fell beneath the knight's glance
of fiery reproach ; " no heart is truer to his country, no arm
more eager to rise in her defence."

"The king! the king!" gasped Nigel, some strange over-
mastering emotion checking his utterance. " Who is it that
has thus dared, thus — "

" And canst thou too ask, young sir ?" returned the knight,
with a smile of peculiar meaning. " Is thy sovereign's name
unknown to thee ? Is Robert Bruce a name unknown," unheard,
unloved, that thou, too, breathest it not ?"

" My brother, my brave, my noble brother ! — I saw it, I
knew it ! Thou wert no changeling, no slavish neutral ; but
even as I felt, thou art, thou wilt be ! My brother, my brother,
I may live and die for thee !" and the young enthusiast raised
his clasped hands above his head, as in speechless thanksgiving
for these strange, exciting news ; his flushed cheek, his quiver-
ing lip, his moistened eye betraying an emotion which seemed
for the space of a moment to sink on the hearts of all who wit-
nessed it, and hush each feeling into silence. A shout from
the court below broke that momentary pause.

" God save King Robert ! then, say I," vociferated Alan,
eagerly grasping the knight's hand. " Sit, sit, Sir Knight ; and
for the love of heaven, speak more of this most wondrous tale.
Erewhile, we hear of this goodly Earl of Carrick at Edward's
court, doing him homage, serving him as his own English

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 17

knight, and now in Scotland — aye, and Scotland's king. How
may we reconcile these contradictions ?"

" Rather how did he vanish from the tyrant's hundred eyes,
and leave the court of England ?" inquired Nigel, at the same
instant as the Countess of Buchan demanded, somewhat anx-
iously—

" And Sir John Comyn, recognizes he our sovereign's claim ?
Is he amongst the Brace's slender train ?"

A dark cloud gathered on the noble brow of the knight,
replacing the chivalric courtesy with which he had hitherto
responded to his interrogators. He paused ere he answered,
in a stern, deep voice —

"Sir John Comyn lived and died a traitor, lady. He hath
received the meed of his base treachery ; his traitorous design
for the renewed slavery of his country — the imprisonment and
death of the only one that stood forth in her need."

" And by whom did the traitor die ?" fiercely demanded the
young heir of Buchan. " Mother, thy cheek is blanched ; yet
wherefore ? Comyn as I am, shall we claim kindred with a
traitor, and turn away from the good cause, because, forsooth, a
traitorous Comyn dies ? No ; were the Bruce's own right hand
red with the recreant's blood — he only is the Comyn's king."

" Thou hast said it, youthful lord," said the knight, impres-
sively. "Alan of Buchan, bear that bold heart and patriot
sword unto the Bruce's throne, and Comyn's traitorous name
shall be forgotten in the scion of Macduff. Thy mother's loyal
blood runs reddest in thy veins, young sir ; too pure for Comyn's
base alloy. Know, then, the Bruce's hand is red with the trait-
or's blood, and yet, fearless and firm in the holy justice of his
cause, he calls on his nobles and their vassals for their homage
and their aid — he calls on them to awake from their long sleep,
and shake off the iron yoke from their necks ; to prove that
Scotland — the free, the dauntless, the unconquered soil, which
once spurned the Roman power, to which all other kingdoms
bowed — is free, undaunted, and unconquered still. He calls
aloud, aye, even on ye, wife and son of Comyn of Buchan, to
snap the link that binds ye to a traitor's house, and prove —
though darkly, basely flows the blood of Macduff in one de-
scendant's veins, that the Earl of Fife refuses homage and alle-
giance to his sovereign — in ye it rushes free, and bold, and
loyal still."

18 THE DAYS OF BKTJCE.

"And he shall find it so. Mother, why do ye not speak?
You, from whose lips ray heart first learnt to beat for Scotland ;
my lips to pray that one might come to save her from the yoke
of tyranny. You, who taught me to forget all private feud, to
merge all feeling, every claim, in the one great hope of Scot-
land's freedom. Now that the time is come, wherefore art thpu
thus ? Mother, my own noble mother, let me go forth with
thy blessing on my path, and ill and woe can come not near
me. Speak to thy son !" The undaunted boy flung himself
on his knee before the countess as he spoke. There was a
dark and fearfully troubled expression on her noble features.
She had clasped her hands together, as if to still or hide their
unwonted trembling ; but when she looked on those bright and
glowing features, there came a dark, dread vision of blood, and
the axe and cord, and she folded her arms around his neck, and
sobbed in all a mother's irrepressible agony.

" My own, my beautiful, to what have I doomed thee !" she
cried. " To death, to woe ! aye, perchance, to that heaviest
woe — a father's curse ! exposing thee to death, to the ills of all
who dare to strike for freedom. Alan, Alan, how can I bid
thee forth to death ? and yet it is I have taught thee to love it
better than the safety of a slave ; longed, prayed for this mo-
ment— deemed that for my country I could even give my child
— and now, now — oh God of mercy, give me strength !"

She bent down her head on his, clasping him to her heart,
as thus to still the tempest which had whelmed it. There is
something terrible in that strong emotion which sometimes sud-
denly and unexpectedly overpowers the calmest and most con-
trolled natures. It speaks of an agony so measureless, so be-
yond the relief of sympathy, that it falls like an electric spell
on the hearts of all witnesses, sweeping all minor passions into
dust before it. Little accustomed as was Sir Robert Keith to
sympathize in such emotions, he now turned hastily aside, and,
as if fearing to trust himself in silence, commenced a hurried
detail to Nigel Bruce of the Earl of Carrick's escape from Lon-
don, and his present position. The young nobleman endeav-
ored to confine his attention to the subject, but his eyes would
wander in the direction of Agnes, who, terrified at emotions
which in her mother she had never witnessed before, was kneel-
ing in tears beside her brother.

A strong convulsive shuddering passed over the bowed frame

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 19

of Isabella of Buchan ; then she lifted up her head, and all
traces of emotion had passed from her features. Silently she
pressed her lips on the fair brows of her children alternately,
and her voice faltered not as she bade them rise and heed
her not.

" We will speak further of this anon, Sir Robert," she said,
so calmly that the knight started. "Hurried and important
as I deem your mission, the day is too far spent to permit of
your departure until the morrow ; you will honor our evening
meal, and this true Scottish tower for a night's lodging, and
then we can have leisure for discourse on the weighty matters
you have touched upon." ,

She bowed courteously, as she turned with a slow, unfalter-
ing step to leave the room. Her resumed dignity recalled the
bewildered senses of her son, and, with graceful courtesy, he
invited the knight to follow him, and choose his lodging for
the night.

" Agnes, mine own Agnes, now, indeed, may I win thee,"
whispered Nigel, as tenderly he folded his arm round her, and
looked fondly in her face. " Scotland shall be free ! her tyrants
banished by her patriot king ; and then, then may not Nigel
Bruce look to this little hand as his reward ? Shall not, may
not the thought of thy pure, gentle love be mine, in the tented
field and battle's roar, urging me on, even should all other
voice be hushed ?"

" Forgettest thou I am a Comyn, Nigel ? That the dark
stain of traitor, of disloyalty is withering on our line, and wider
and wider grows the barrier between us and the Bruce ?" The
voice of the maiden was choked, her bright eyes dim with tears.

" All, all I do forget, save that thou art mine own sweet
love ; and though thy name is Comyn, thy heart is all Macduff.
Weep not, my Agnes ; thine eyes were never framed for tears.
Bright times for us and Scotland are yet in store !"

CHAPTER II.

FOR the better comprehension of the events related in the
preceding chapter, it will be necessary to cast a summary

20

glance on matters of historical and domestic import no way
irrelevant to our subject, save and except their having taken
place some few years previous to the commencement of our

tale

The early years of Isabella of Buchan had been passed in
happiness. The only daughter, indeed for seven years the
only child, of Malcolm, Earl of Fife, deprived of her mother
on the birth of her brother, her youth had been nursed in a
tenderness and care uncommon in those rude ages ; and yet,
from being constantly with her father, she imbibed those higher
qualities of mind which so ably fitted her for the part which in
after years it was her lot to play. The last words of his de-
' voted wife, imploring him to educate her child himself, and not
to sever the tie between them, by following the example of his
compeers, and sending her either to England, France, or Nor-
way, had been zealously observed by the earl ; the prosperous
calm, which was the happy portion of Scotland during the
latter years of Alexander III., whose favorite minister he was,
enabled him to adhere to her wishes far more successfully than
could have been the case had he been called forth to war.

In her father's castle, then, were the first thirteen years of
the Lady Isabella spent, varied only by occasional visits to the
court of Alexander, where her beauty and vivacity rendered
her a universal favorite. Descended from one of the most an-
cient Scottish families, whose race it was their boast had never
been adulterated by the blood of a foreigner, no Norman pre-
judice intermingled with the education of Isabella, to tarnish
in any degree those principles of loyalty and patriotism which
her father, the Earl of Fife, so zealously inculcated. She was
a more true, devoted Scottish woman at fourteen, than many
of her own rank whose years might double hers ; ready even
then to sacrifice even life itself, were it called for in defence of
her sovereign, or the freedom of her country ; and when, on
the death of Alexander, clouds began to darken the horizon of
Scotland, her father scrupled not to impart to her, child though
she seemed, those fears and anxieties which clouded his brow,
and filled his spirit with foreboding gloom. It was then that
in her flashing eye and lofty soul, in the undaunted spirit,
which bore a while even his colder and more foreseeing mood
along with it, that he traced the fruit whose seed he had so
carefully sown.

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 21

" Why should you fear for Scotland, my father ?" she would
urge ; " is it because her queen is but a child and now far dis-
tant, that anarchy and gloom shall enfold our land ? Is it not
shame in ye thus craven to deem her sons, when in thy own
breast so much devotion and loyalty have rest ? why not judge
others by yourself, my father, and know the dark things of
which ye dream can never be ?"

" Thou speakest as the enthusiast thou art, my child. Yet
it is not the rule of our maiden queen my foreboding spirit
dreads ; 'tis that on such a slender thread as her young life
suspends the well-doing or the ruin of her kingdom. If she
be permitted to live and reign over us, all may be well ; 'tis on
the event of her death for which I tremble."

" Wait till the evil day cometh then, my father ; bring it not
nearer by anticipation ; and should indeed such be, thinkest
thou not there are bold hearts and loyal souls to guard our land
from foreign foe, and give the rightful heir his due ?"

" I know not, Isabella. There remain but few with the pure
Scottish blood within their veins, and it is but to them our land
is so dear : they would peril life and limb in her defence. It
is not to the proud baron descended from the intruding Nor-
man, and thinking only of his knightly sports and increase of
wealth, by it matters not what war. Nor dare we look with
confidence to the wild chiefs of the north and the Lords of the
Isles ; eager to enlarge their own dominions, to extend the ter-
rors of their name, they will gladly welcome the horrors and
confusion that may arise ; and have we true Scottish blood
enough to weigh against these, my child ? Alas ! Isabella,
our only hope is in the health and well-doing of our queen,
precarious as that is ; but if she fail us, woe to Scotland !"

The young Isabella could not bring forward any solid argu-
ments in answer to this reasoning, and therefore she was silent ;
but she felt her Scottish blood throb quicker in her veins, as
he spoke of the few pure Scottish men remaining, and inwardly
vowed, woman as she was, to devote both energy and life to
her country and its sovereign.

Unhappily for his children, though perhaps fortunately for
himself, the Earl of Fife was spared the witnessing in the mis-
eries of his country how true had been his forebodings. Two
years after the death of his king, he was found dead in his
bed, not without strong suspicion of poison. Public rumor

22 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

pointed to his uncle, Macduff of Glamis, as the instigator, if
not the actual perpetrator of the deed ; but as no decided proof
could be alleged against him, and the High Courts of Scotland
not seeming inclined to pursue the investigation, the rumor ceas-
ed, and Macduff assumed, with great appearance of zeal, the
guardianship of the young Earl of Fife and his sister, an office be-
queathed to him under the hand and seal of the earl, his nephew.

The character of the Lady Isabella was formed ; that of her
brother, a child of eight, of course was not ; and the deep,
voiceless suffering her father's loss occasioned her individually
was painfully heightened by the idea that to her young broth-
er his death was an infinitely greater misfortune than to herself.
He indeed knew not, felt not the agony which bound her ; he
knew not the void which was on her soul ; how utterly, un-
speakably lonely that heart had become, accustomed as it had
been to repose its every thought, and hope, and wish, and feel-
ing on a parent's love ; yet notwithstanding this, her clear mind
felt and saw that while for herself there was little fear that she
should waver in those principles so carefully instilled, for her
brother there was much, very much to dread. She did not
and could not repose confidence in her kinsman ; for her pa-
rent's sake she struggled to prevent dislike, to compel belief
that the suavity, even kindness of his manner, the sentiments
which he expressed, had their foundation in sincerity; but
when her young brother became solely and entirely subject to
his influence, she could no longer resist the conviction that
their guardian was not the fittest person for the formation of a
patriot. She could not, she would not believe the rumor which
had once, but once, reached her ears, uniting the hitherto pure
line of Macduff with midnight murder ; her own noble mind
rejected the idea as a thing utterly and wholly impossible, the
more so perhaps, as she knew her father had been latterly sub-
ject to an insidious disease, baffling all the leech's art, and
which he himself had often warned her would terminate sud-
denly ; yet still an inward shuddering would cross her heart at
times, when in his presence ; she could not define the cause,
or why she felt it sometimes and not always, and so she sought
to subdue it, but she sought in vain.

Meanwhile an event approached materially connected with
the Lady Isabella, and whose consummation the late Thane
of Fife had earnestly prayed he might have been permitted to

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 23

hallow with his blessing. Alexander Comyn, Earl of Buchan
and High Constable of Scotland, had been from early youth
the brother in arms and dearest friend of the Earl of Fife, and
in the romantic enthusiasm which ever characterized the com-
panionship of chivalry, they had exchanged a mutual vow that
in after years, should heaven grant them children, a yet nearer
and dearer tie should unite their houses. The birth of Isabella,
two years after that of an heir to Buchan, was hailed with in-
creased delight by both fathers, and from her earliest years she
was accustomed to look to the Lord John as her future hus-
band. Perhaps had they been much thrown together, Isabel-
la's high and independent spirit would have rebelled against
this wish of her father, and preferred the choosing for herself ;
but from the ages of eleven and nine they had been separated,
the Earl of Buchan sending his son, much against the advice of
his friend, to England, imagining that there, and under such a
knight as Prince Edward, he would better learn the noble art
of Avar and all chivalric duties, than in the more barbarous
realm of Scotland. To Isabella, then, her destined husband
was a stranger ; yet with a heart too young and unsophisticated
to combat her parent's wishes, by any idea of its affections be-
coming otherwise engaged, and judging of the son by the
father, to whom she was ever a welcome guest, and who in
himself was indeed a noble example of chivalry and honor,
Isabella neither felt nor expressed any repugnance to her
father's wish, that she should sign her name to a contract of
betrothal, drawn up by the venerable abbot of Buchan, and to
Avhich the name of Lord John had been already appended ; it
was the lingering echoes of that deep, yet gentle voice, bless-
ing her compliance to his wishes, which thrilled again and
again to her heart, softening her grief, even when that beloved
voice was hushed forever, and she had no thought, no wish to
recall that promise, nay, even looked to its consummation with
joy, as a release from the companionship, nay, as at times she
felt, the wardance of her kinsman.

But this calm and happy frame of mind was not permitted
to be of long continuance. In one of the brief intervals of
MacduflTs absence from the castle, about eighteen months after
her father's death, the young earl prevailed on the aged re-
tainer in whose charge he had been left, to consent to his go-
ing forth to hunt the red deer, a sport of which, boy as he was,

24 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

he was passionately fond. In joyous spirits, and attended by
a gallant train, he set out, calling for and receiving the ready
sympathy of his sister, who rejoiced as himself in his emanci-
pation from restraint, which either was, or seemed to be, ad-
verse to the usual treatment of noble youths.

Somewhat sooner than Isabella anticipated, they returned.
Earl Duncan, with a wilfulness which already characterized
him, weary of the extreme watchfulness of his attendants, who,
in their anxiety to keep him from danger, checked and inter-
fered with his boyish wish to signalize himself by some daring
deed of agility and skill, at length separated himself, except
from one or two as wilful, and but little older than himself.
The young lord possessed all the daring of his race, but skill
and foresight he needed greatly, and 'dearly would he have
paid for his rashness. A young and fiery bull had chanced to
cross his path, and disregarding the entreaties of his followers,
he taunted them with cowardice, and goaded the furious animal
to the encounter ; too late he discovered that he had neither
skill nor strength for the combat he had provoked, and had it
not been for the strenuous exertions of a stranger youth, who
diverted aside the fury of the beast, he must have fallen a vic-
tim to his thoughtless daring. Curiously, and almost enviously,
he watched the combat between the stranger and the bull, nor
did any emotion of gratitude rise in the boy's breast to soften the
bitterness with which he regarded the victory of the former,
which the reproaches of his retainers, who at that instant came
up, and their condemnation of his folly, did not tend to diminish ;
and almost sullenly he passed to the rear, on their return, leaving
Sir Malise Duff to make the acknowledgments, which should
have come from him, and courteously invite the young stranger
to accompany them home, an invitation which, somewhat to
the discomposure of Earl Duncan, was accepted.

If the stranger had experienced any emotion of anger from
the boy's slight of his services, the gratitude of the Lady Isa-
bella would have banished it on the instant, and amply repaid
them ; with cheeks glowing, eyes glistening, and a voice quiv-
ering with suppressed emotion, she had spoken her brief yet
eloquent thanks ; and had he needed further proof, the em-
brace she lavished on her young brother, as reluctantly, and
after a long interval, he entered the hall, said yet more than
her broken words.

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 25

" Thou art but a fool, Isabella, craving thy pardon," was his
ungracious address, as he sullenly freed himself from her.
" Had I brought thee the bull's horns, there might have been
some cause for this marvellously warm welcome ; but as
it is — "

" I joy thou wert not punished for thy rashness, Duncan.
Yet 'twas not in such mood I hoped to find thee ; knovvest thou
that 'tis to yon brave stranger thou owest thy life ?"

" Better it had been forfeited, than that he should stand be-
tween me and mine honor. I thank him not for it, nor owe
him aught like gratitude."

" Peace, ungrateful boy, an thou knowest not thy station
better," was his sister's calm, yet dignified reply; and the
stranger smiled, and by his courteous manner, speedily dis-
missed her fears as to the impression of her brother's words,
regarding them as the mere petulance of a child.

Days passed, and still the stranger lingered ; eminently
handsome, his carriage peculiarly graceful, and even dignified,
although it was evident, from the slight, and as it were, unfin-
ished roundness of his figure, that he was but in the first stage
of youth, yet his discourse and manner were of a kind that
would bespeak him noble, even had his appearance been less
convincing. According to the custom of the time, which would
have deemed the questioning a guest as to his name and family
a breach of all the rules of chivalry and hospitality, he remained
unknown.

" Men call me Sir Robert, though I have still my spurs to
win," he had once said, laughingly, to Lady Isabella and her
kinsman, Sir Malise Duff, " but I would not proclaim my birth
till I may bring it honor."

A month passed ere their guest took his departure, leaving
regard and regret behind him, in all, perhaps, save in the child-
ish breast of Earl Duncan, whose sullen manner had never
changed. There was a freshness and light-heartedness, and a
wild spirit of daring gallantry about the stranger that fascina-
ted, men scarce knew wherefore ; a reckless independence of
sentiment which charmed, from the utter absence of all affecta-
tion which it comprised. To all, save to the Lady Isabella, he
was a mere boy, younger even than his years ; but in conver-
sation with her his superior mind shone forth, proving he
could in truth appreciate hers, and give back intellect for intej-

2

26 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

lect, feeling for feeling ; perhaps her beauty and unusual en-
dowments had left their impression upon him. However it
may be, one day, one little day after the departure of Sir
Robert, Isabella woke to the consciousness that the calm which
had so long rested on her spirit had departed, and forever ;
and to what had it given place ? Had she dared to love, she,
the betrothed, the promised bride of another ? No ; she could
not have sunk thus low, her heart had been too long controlled
to rebel now. She might not, she would not listen to its voice,
to its wild, impassioned throbs. Alas ! she miscalculated her
own power ; the fastnesses she had deemed secure were forced ;
they closed upon their subtle foe, and held their conqueror
prisoner.

But Isabella was not one to waver in a determination when
once formed ; how might she break asunder links which the
dead had hallowed ? She became the bride of Lord John ;
she sought with her whole soul to forget the past, and love
him according to her bridal vow, and as time passed she ceased
to think of that beautiful vision of her early youth, save as a
dream that had had no resting ; and a mother's fond yearnings
sent their deep delicious sweetness as oil on the troubled
waters of her heart. She might have done this, but unhappily
she too soon discovered her husband was not one to aid her in
her unsuspected task, to soothe and guide, and by his affection
demand her gratitude and reverence. Enwrapped in selfish-
ness or haughty indifference, his manner towards her ever
harsh, unbending, and suspicious, Isabella's pride would have
sustained her, had not her previous trial lowered her in self-
esteem ; but as it was, meekly and silently she bore with the
continued outbreak of unrestrained passion, and never wavered
from the path of duty her clear mind had laid down.

On the birth of a son, however, her mind regained its tone,
and inwardly yet solemnly she vowed that no mistaken sense
of duty to her husband should interfere with the education of
her son. As widely opposed as were their individual charac-
ters, so were the politics of the now Earl and Countess of
Buchan. Educated in England, on friendly terms with her
king, he had, as the Earl of Fife anticipated, lost all nationality,
all interest in Scotland, and as willingly and unconcernedly
taken the vows of homage to John Baliol, as the mere repre-
sentative and lieutenant of Edward, as he would have done to

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 27

a free and unlimited king. He had been among the very first
to vote for calling in the King of England as umpire ; the most
eager to second and carry out all Edward's views, and conse-
quently high in that monarch's favor, a reputation which his
enmity to the house of Bruce, one of the most troublesome
competitors of the crown, did not tend to diminish. Fortu-
nately perhaps for Isabella, the bustling politics of her husband
constantly divided them. The births of a daughter and son had
no effect in softening his hard and selfish temper ; he looked
on them more as incumbrances than pleasures, and leaving the
countess in the strong Tower of Buchan, he himself, with a
troop of armed and mounted Comyns, attached himself to the
court and interests of Edward, seeming to forget that such be-
ings as a wife and children had existence. Months, often years,
would stretch between the earl's visits to his mountain home,
and then a week was the longest period of his lingering ; but
no evidence of a gentler spirit or of less indifference to his chil-
dren was apparent, and years seemed to have turned to positive
evil, qualities which in youth had merely seemed unamiable.

Desolate as the situation of the countess might perhaps ap-
pear, she found solace and delight in moulding the young minds
of her children according to the pure and elevated cast of her
own. All the long-suppressed tenderness of her nature was
lavished upon them, and on their innocent love she sought to
rest the passionate yearnings of her own. She taught them to
be patriots, in the purest, most beautiful appropriation of the
term, — to spurn the yoke of the foreigner, and the oppressor,
however light and flowery the links of that yoke might seem.
She could not bid them love and revere their father as she
longed to do, but she taught them that where their duty to
their country and their free and unchained king interfered not,
in all things they must obey and serve their father, and seek to
win his love.

Once only had the Countess of Buchan beheld the vision
which had crossed her youth. He had come, it seemed uncon-
scious of his track, and asked hospitality for a night, evidently
without knowing who was the owner of the castle ; perhaps his
thoughts were preoccupied, for a deep gloom was on his brow,
and though he had started with evident pleasure when recog-
nizing his beautiful hostess, the gloom speedily resumed ascen-
dency. It was but a few weeks after the fatal battle of Falkirk,

28 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

and therefore Isabella felt there was cause enough for depres-
sion and uneasiness. The graces of boyhood had given place
to a finished manliness of deportment, a calmer expression of
feature, denoting that years had changed and steadied the char-
acter, even as the form. He then seemed as one laboring un-
der painful and heavy thought, as one brooding over some
mighty change within, as if some question of weighty import
were struggling with recollections and visions of the past. He
had spoken little, evidently shrinking in pain from all reference
to or information on the late engagement. He tarried not long,
departing with dawn next day, and they did not meet again.

And what had been the emotions of the countess ? perhaps
her heart had throbbed, and her cheek paled and flushed, at
this unexpected meeting with one she had fervently prayed
never to see again ; but not one feeling obtained ascendency
in that heart which she would have dreaded to unveil to the
eye of her husband. She did indeed feel that had her lot been
cast otherwise, it must have been a happy one, but the thought
was transient. She was a wife, a mother, and in the happiness
of her children, her youth, and all its joys and pangs, and
dreams and hopes, were merged, to be recalled no more.

The task of instilling patriotic sentiments in the breast of her
son had been insensibly aided by the countess's independent
position amid the retainers of Buchan. This earldom had only
been possessed by the family of Comyn since the latter years
of the reign of William the Lion, passing into their family by
the marriage of Margaret Countess of Buchan with Sir William
Comyn, a knight of goodly favor and repute. This interpola-
tion and ascendency of strangers was a continual source of jeal-
ousy and ire to the ancient retainers of the olden heritage, and
continually threatened to break out into open feud, had not the
soothing policy of the Countess. Margaret and her descendants,
by continually employing them together in subjecting other
petty clans, contrived to keep them in good humor. As long
as their lords were loyal to Scotland and her king, and behaved
so as to occasion no unpleasant comparison between them and
former superiors, all went on smoothly ; but the haughty and
often outrageous conduct of the present earl, his utter neglect
of their interests, his treasonous politics, speedily roused the
slumbering fire into flame. A secret yet solemn oath went
round the clan, by which every fighting man bound himself to

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 29

rebel against their master, rather than betray their country by
siding with a foreign tyrant ; to desert their homes, their all,
and disperse singly midst the fastnesses and rocks of Scotland,
than lift up a sword against her freedom. The sentiments of
the countess were very soon discovered ; and even yet stronger
than the contempt and loathing with which they looked upon
the earl was the love, the veneration they bore to her and to
her children. If his mother's lips had been silent, the youthful
heir would have learned loyalty and patriotism from his brave
though unlettered retainers, as it was to them he owed the skill
and grace with which he sate his fiery steed, and poised his
heavy lance, and wielded his stainless brand — to them he owed
all the chivalric accomplishments of the day ; and though he
had never quitted the territories of Buchan, he would have found
few to compete with him in his high and gallant spirit.

Dark and troubled was the political aspect of unhappy Scot-
land, at the eventful period at which our tale commences. The
barbarous and most unjust execution of Sir William Wallace
had struck the whole country as with a deadly panic, from
which it seemed there was not one to rise to cast aside the
heavy chains, whose weight it seemed had crushed the whole
kingdom, and taken from it the last gleams of patriotism and
of hope. Every fortress of strength and consequence was in
possession of the English. English soldiers, English commis-
sioners, English judges, laws, and regulations now filled and
governed Scotland. The abrogation of all those ancient cus-
toms, which had descended from the Celts and Picts, and Scots,
fell upon the hearts of all true Scottish men as the tearing
asunder the last links of freedom, and branding them as slaves.
Her principal nobles, strangely and traitorously, preferred safety
and wealth, in the acknowledgment and servitude of Edward,
to glory and honor in the service of their country ; and the
spirits of the middle ranks yet spurned the inglorious yoke, and
throbbed but for one to lead them on, if not to victory, at least
to an honorable death. That one seemed not to rise ; it was
as if the mighty soul of Scotland had departed, when Wallace
slept in death.

30 THE DATS OF BKUCE.

CHAPTER III.

A BUSTLING and joyous aspect did tbe ancient town of Scone
present near the end of March, 1306. Subdued indeed, and
evidently under some restraint and mystery, which might be
accounted for by the near vicinity of the English, who were
quartered in large numbers over almost the whole of Perth-
shire ; some, however, appeared exempt from these most un-
welcome guests. The nobles, esquires, yeomen, and peasants —
all, by their national garb and eager yet suppressed voices,
might be known at once as Scotsmen right and true.

It had been long, very long since the old quiet town had wit-
nessed such busy groups and such eager tongues as on all sides
thronged it now; the very burghers and men of handicraft
wore on their countenances tokens of something momentous.
There were smiths' shops opening on every side, armorers at
work, anvils clanging, spears sharpening, shields burnishing,
bits and steel saddles and sharp spurs meeting the eye at every
turn. Ever and anon, came a burst of enlivening music, and
well mounted and gallantly attired, attended by some twenty
or fifty followers, as may be, would gallop down some knight
or noble, his armor flashing back a hundred fold the rays of the
setting sun ; his silken pennon displayed, the device of which
seldom failed to excite a hearty cheer from the excited crowds ;
his stainless shield and heavy spear borne by his attendant
esquires ; his vizor up, as if he courted and dared recognition ;
his surcoat, curiously and tastefully embroidered ; his gold or
silver-sheathed and hilted sword suspended by the silken sash
of many folds and brilliant coloring. On foot or on horseback,
these noble cavaliers were continually passing and repassing
the ancient streets, singly or in groups ; then there were their
followers, all carefully and strictly armed, in the buff coat
plaited with steel, the well-quilted bonnet, the huge broad-
sword ; Highlanders in their peculiar and graceful costume ;
even the stout farmers, who might also be found amongst this
motley assemblage, wearing the iron hauberk and sharp sword
beneath their apparently peaceful garb. Friars in their gray
frocks and black cowls, and stately burghers and magistrates,
in their velvet cloaks and gold chains, continually mingled their

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 31

peaceful forms with their more warlike brethren, and lent a yet
more varied character to the stirring picture.

Varied as were the features of this moving multitude, the
expression on every countenance, noble and follower, yeoman
and peasant, burgher and even monk, was invariably the same
— a species of strong yet suppressed excitement, sometimes
shaded by anxiety, sometimes lighted by hope, almost amount-
ing to triumph ; sometimes the dark frown of scorn and hate
would pass like a thunder-cloud over noble brows, and the
mailed hand unconsciously clutched the sword ; and then the
low thrilling laugh of derisive contempt would disperse the
shade, and the muttered oath of vengeance drown the voice of
execration. It would have been a strange yet mighty study,
the face of man in that old town ; but men were all too much
excited to observe their fellows, to them it was enough — un-
spoken, unirnparted wisdom as it was — to know, 'to feel, one
common feeling bound that varied mass of men, one mighty
interest made them brothers.

The ancient Palace of Scone, so long unused, was now evi-
dently the head-quarters of the noblemen hovering about the
town, for whatever purpose they were there assembled. The
heavy flag of Scotland, in all its massive quarterings, as the
symbol of a free unfettered kingdom, waved from . the centre
tower ; archers and spearmen lined the courts, sentinels were
at their posts, giving and receiving the watchword from all who
passed and repassed the heavy gates, which from dawn till
nightfall were flung wide open, as if the inmates of that regal
dwelling were ever ready to receive their friends, and feared
not the approach of foes.

The sun, though sinking, was still bright, when the slow and
dignified approach of the venerable abbot of Scone occasioned
some stir and bustle amidst the joyous occupants of the palace
yard ; the wild joke was hushed, the noisy brawl subsided, the
games of quoit and hurling the bar a while suspended, and the
silence of unaffected reverence awaited the good old man's ap-
proach and kindly-given benediction. Leaving his attendants
in one of the lower rooms, the abbot proceeded up the massive
stone staircase, and along a broad and lengthy passage, darkly
panelled with thick oak, then pushing aside some heavy arras,
stood within one of the state chambers, and gave his fervent
benison on one within. This was a man in the earliest and

32 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

freshest prime of life, that period uniting all the grace and
beauty of youth with the mature thought, and steady wisdom,
and calmer views of manhood. That he was of noble birth
and blood and training one glance sufficed ; peculiarly and glo-
riously distinguished in the quiet majesty of his figure, in the
mild attempered gravity of his commanding features. Nature
herself seemed to have marked him out "for the distinguished
part it was his to play. Already there were lines of thought
upon the clear and open brow, and round the mouth ; and the
blue eye shone with that calm, steady lustre, which seldom
comes till the changeful fire and wild visions of dreamy youth
have departed. His hair, of rich and glossy brown, fell in
loose natural curls on either side his face, somewhat lower than
his throat, shading his cheeks, which, rather pale than other-
wise, added to the somewhat grave aspect of his countenance ;
his armor of steel, richly and curiously inlaid with burnished
gold, sat lightly and easily upon his peculiarly tall and manly
figure ; a sash," of azure silk and gold, suspended his sword,
whose sheath was in unison with the rest of his armor, though
the hilt was studded with gems. His collar was also of gold,
as were his gauntlets, which with his helmet rested on a table
near him ; a coronet of plain gold surmounted his helmet, and
on his surcoat, which lay on a seat at the further end of the
room, might be discerned the rampant lion of Scotland, sur-
mounted by a crown.

The apartment in which he stood, though shorn of much of
that splendor which", ere the usurping invasion of Edward of
England, had distinguished it, still bore evidence of being a
chamber of some state. The hangings were of dark-green vel-
vet embroidered, and with a very broad fringe of gold ; drapery
of the same costly material adorned the broad casements, which
stood in heavy frames of oak, black as ebony. Large folding-
doors, with panels of the same beautiful material, richly carved,
opened into an ante-chamber, and thence to the grand staircase
and more public parts of the building. In this antechamber
were now assembled pages, esquires, and other officers bespeak-
ing a royal household, though much less numerous than is gen-
erally the case.

" Sir Edward and the young Lord of Douglas have not re-
turned, sayest thou, good Athelbert ? Knowest thou when and
for what went they forth ?" were the words which were spoken

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 33

by the noble we have described, as the abbot entered, unper-
ceived at first, from his having avoided the public entrance to
the state rooms ; they were addressed to an esquire, who, with
cap in hand and head somewhat lowered, respectfully awaited
the commands of his master.

" They said not the direction of their course, my liege ; 'tis
thought to reconnoitre either the movements of the English, or
to ascertain the cause of the delay of the Lord of Fife. They
departed at sunrise, with but few followers."

" On but a useless errand, good Athelbert, methinks, an they
hope to greet Earl Duncan, save with a host of English at his
back. Bid Sir Edward hither, should he return ere nightfall,
and see to the instant delivery of those papers ; I fear me, the
good lord bishop has waited for them ; and stay — Sir Robert
Keith, hath he not yet returned ?"

" No, good my lord."

" Ha ! he tarrieth long," answered the noble, musingly.
" Now heaven forefend no evil hath befallen him ; but to thy
mission, Athelbert, I must not detain thee with doubts and
cavil. Ha ! reverend father, right welcome," he added, per-
ceiving him as he turned again to the table, on the esquire
reverentially withdrawing- from his presence, and bending his
head humbly in acknowledgment of the abbot's benediction.
" Thou findest me busied as usual. Seest thou," he pointed
to a rough map of Scotland lying before him, curiously inter-
sected Avith mystic lines and crosses, " Edinburgh, Berwick,
Roxburgh, Lanark, Stirling, Dumbarton, in the power of, nay
peopled, by English. Argyle on the west, Elgin, Aberdeen,
with Banff eastward, teeming with proud, false Scots, hered-
itary foes to the Bruce, false traitors to their land ; the north —
why, 'tis the same foul tale ; and yet I dare to raise my ban-
ner, dare to wear the crown, and fling defiance in the teeth of
all. What sayest thou, father — is't not a madman's deed?"

All appearance of gravity vanished from his features as he
spoke. His eye, seemingly so mild, flashed till its very color
could not have been distinguished, his cheek glowed, his lip
curled, and his voice, ever peculiarly rich and sonorous, deep-
ened with the excitement of soul.

" Were the fate of man in his own hands, were it his and
his alone to make or mar his destiny. I should e'en proclaim
thee mad, my son, and seek to turn thee from thy desperate

2*

34: THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

purpose ; but it is not so. Man is but an instrument, and He
who urged thee to this deed, who wills not this poor land to
rest enslaved, will give thee strength and wisdom for its free-
dom. His ways are not as man's ; and circled as thou seemest
with foes, His strength shall bring thee forth and gird thee
with His glory. Thou wouldst not turn aside, my son — thou
fearest not thy foes ?"

" Fear ! holy father : it is a word unknown to the children
of the Bruce ! I do but smile at mine extensive kingdom — of
some hundred acres square ; smile at the eagerness with which
they greet me liege and king, as if the words, so long unused,
should now do double duty for long absence."

" And better so, my son," answered the old man, cheer-
fully. " Devotion to her destined savior argues well for bonny
Scotland ; better do homage unto thee as liege and king,
though usurpation hath abridged thy kingdom, than to the
hireling of England's Edward, all Scotland at his feet. Men
will not kneel to sceptred slaves, nor freemen fight for tyrants'
tools. Sovereign of Scotland thou art, thou shalt be, Robert
the Bruce ! Too long hast thou kept back ; but now, if arms
can fight and hearts can pray, thou shalt be king of Scot-
land."

The abbot spoke with a fervor, a spirit which, though per-
haps little accordant with his clerical character, thrilled to the
Bruce's heart. He grasped the old man's hand.

" Holy father," he said, " thou wouldst inspire hearts with
ardor needing inspiration more than mine ; and to me thou
givest hope, and confidence, and strength. Too long have I
slept and dreamed," his countenance darkened, and his voice
was sadder ; " fickle in purpose, uncertain in accomplishment ;
permitting my youth to moulder 'neath the blasting atmos-
phere of tyranny. Yet will I now atone for the neglected
past. Atone ! aye, banish it from the minds of men. My
country hath a claim, a double claim upon me ; she calls upon
me, trumpet-tongued, to arise, avenge her, and redeem my
misspent youth. Nor shall she call on me in vain, so help me,
gracious heaven !"

^ " Amen," fervently responded the abbot ; and the king con-
tinued more hurriedly —

"And that stain, that blot, father? Is there mercy in
heaven to wash its darkness from my soul, or must it linger

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 35

there forever preying on my spirit, dashing e'en its highest
hopes and noblest dreams with poison, whispering its still voice
of accusation, even when loudest rings the praise and love of
men ? Is there no rest for this, no silence for that whisper ?
Penitence, atonement, any thing thou wilt, let but my soul be
free !" Hastily, and with step and countenance disordered, he
traversed the chamber, his expressive countenance denoting the
strife within.

"It was, in truth, a rash and guilty deed, my son," answered
the abbot, gravely, yet mildly, "and one that heaven in its jus-
tice will scarce pass unavenged. Man hath given thee the ab-
solution accorded to the true and faithful penitent, for such
thou art ; yet scarcely dare we hope offended heaven is ap-
peased. Justice will visit thee with trouble — sore, oppressing,
grievous trouble. Yet despair not : thou wilt come forth the
purer, nobler, brighter, from the fire ; despair not, but as a
child receive a father's chastening ; lean upon that love, which
wills not death, but penitence and life ; that love, which yet
will bring thee forth and bless this land in thee. My son, be
comforted ; His mercy is yet greater than thy sin."

" And blest art thou, my father, for these blessed words ; a
messenger in truth thou art of peace and love ; and oh, if pray-
ers and penitence avail, if sore temptation may be pleaded, I
shall, I shall be pardoned. Yet would I give my dearest hopes
of life, of fame, of all — save Scotland's freedom — that this evil
had not chanced ; that blood, his blood — base traitor as he
was — was not upon my hand."

" And can it be thou art such craven, Robert, as to repent a
Comyn's death — a Comyn, and a traitor — e'en though his das-
tard blood be on thy hand ? — bah ! An' such deeds weigh
heavy on thy mind, a friar's cowl were better suited to thy
brow than Scotland's diadem."

The speaker was a tall, powerful man, somewhat younger in
appearance than the king, but with an expression of fierceness
and haughty pride, contrasting powerfully with the benevolent
and native dignity which so characterized the Bruce. His
voice was as harsh as his manner was abrupt ; yet that he was
brave, nay, rash in his unthinking daring, a very transient glance
would suffice to discover.

" I forgive thee thine undeserved taunt, Edward," answered
the king, calmly, though the hot blood rushed up to his cheek

36 THE DAYS OF BBUCE.

and brow. " I tmst, ere long, to prove thy words are as idle
as the mood which prompted them. I feel not that repentance
cools the patriot fire which urges me to strike for Scotland's
weal — that sorrow for a hated crime unfits me for a warrior.
I would not Comyn lived, but that he had met a traitor's fate
by other hands than mine; been judged — condemned, as his
black treachery called for ; even for our country's sake, it had
been better thus."

" Thou art over- scrupulous, my liege and brother, and I too
hasty," replied Sir Edward Bruce, in the same bold, careless
tone. " Yet beshrew me, but I think that in these times a
sudden blow and hasty fate the only judgment for a traitor.
The miscreant were too richly honored, that by thy royal hand
he fell."

" My son, my son, I pray thee, peace," urged the abbot, in
accents of calm, yet grave authority. " As minister of heaven,
I may not list such words. Bend not thy brow in wrath, clad
as thou art in mail, in youthful might ; yet in my Maker's
cause this withered frame is stronger yet than thou art.
Enough of that which hath been. Thy sovereign spoke in
lowly penitence to me — to me, who frail and lowly unto thee,
am yet the minister of Him whom sin offends. To thee he
stands a warrior and a king, who rude irreverence may brook
not, even from his brother. Be peace between us, then, my
son ; an old man's blessing on thy fierce yet knightly spirit
rest."

"With a muttered oath Sir Edward had strode away at the
abbot's first words; but the cloud passed from his brow as he
concluded, and slightly, yet with something of reverence, he
bowed his head.

" And whither didst thou wend thy way, my fiery brother ?"
demanded Robert. " Bringest thou aught of news, or didst
thou and Douglas but set foot in stirrup and hand on rein sim-
ply from weariness of quiet ?"

" In sober truth, 'twas even so ; partly to mark the move-
ments of the English, an they make a movement, which, till
Pembroke come, they are all too much amazed to do ; partly
to see if in truth that poltroon Duncan of Fife yet hangs back
and still persists in forswearing the loyalty of his ancestors, and
leaving to better hands the proud task of placing the crown of
Scotland on thy head."

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 37

" And thou art convinced at hist that such and such only is
his intention ?" The knight nodded assent, and Bruce con-
tinued, jestingly, " And so thou mightst have been long ago,
my sage brother, hadst thou listened to me. I tell thee Earl
Duncan hath a spite against me, not for daring to raise the
standard of freedom and proclaim myself a king, but for very
hatred of myself. Nay, hast thou not seen it thyself, when,
fellow-soldiers, fellow-seekers of the banquet, tournay, or ball,
he hath avoided, shunned me ? and why should he seek me
now ?"

" Why ? does not Scotland call him, Scotland bid him gird
his sword and don his mail ? Will not the dim spectres of his
loyal line start from their very tombs to call him to thy side, or
brand him traitor and poltroon, with naught of Duff about him
but the name ? Thou smilest."

" At thy violence, good brother. Duncan of Fife loves bet-
ter the silken cords of peace and pleasure, e'en though those
silken threads hide chains, than the trumpet's voice and weight
of mail. In England bred, courted, flattered by her king, 'twere
much too sore a trouble to excite his anger and lose his favor ;
and for whom, for what ? — to crown the man he hateth from
his soul ?"

" And knowest thou wherefore, good my son, in what thou
hast offended ?"

" Offended, holy father ? Nay, in naught unless perchance
a service rendered when a boy — a simple service, merely that
of saving life — hath rendered him the touchy fool he is. But
hark ! who comes ?"

The tramping of many horses, mingled with the eager voices
of men, resounded from the court-yard as he spoke, and Sir
Edward strode hastily to the casement. " Sir Robert Keith
returned !" he exclaimed, joyfully ; " and seemingly right well
attended. Litters too — bah ! we want no more women. Tis
somewhat new for Keith to be a squire of dames. Why, what
banner is this ? The black bear of Buchan — impossible ! the
earl is a foul Comyn. I'll to the court, for this passes my poor
wits." He turned hastily to quit the chamber, as a youth en-
tered, not without some opposition, it appeared, from the at-
tendants without, but eagerly he had burst through them, and
flung his plumed helmet from his beautiful brow, and, after
glancing hastily round the room, bounded to the side of Robert,

38 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

knelt at his feet, and clasped his knees without uttering a syl-
lable, voiceless from an emotiolf whose index was stamped upon
his glowing features.

" Nigel, by all that's marvellous, and as moon-stricken as his
wont ! Why, where the foul fiend hast thou sprung from ?
Art dumb, thou foolish boy ? By St. Andrew, these are times
to act and speak, not think and feel ! Whence comest thou ?"

So spoke the impatient Edward, to whom the character of
his youngest brother had ever been a riddle, which it had been
too much trouble to expound, and that which it seemed to his
too careless thought he ever looked upon with scorn and con-
tempt. Not so, King Robert ; he raised him affectionately in
his arms, and pressed him to his heart.

" Thou'rt welcome, most, most welcome, Nigel ; as welcome
as unlocked for. But why this quick return from scenes and
studies more congenial to thy gentle nature, my young brother ?
this fettered land is scarce a home for thee ; thy free, thy fond
imaginings can scarce have resting here." He spoke sadly,
and his smile unwittingly was sorrowful.

"And thinkest thou, Robert — nay, forgive me, good my
liege — thinkest thou, because I loved the poet's dream, because
I turned, in sad and lonely musing, from King Edward's court,
I loved the cloister better than the camp ? Oh, do me not
such wrong ! thou knowest not the guidings of my heart ; nor
needs it now, my sword shall better plead my cause than can
my tongue." He turned away deeply and evidently pained,
and a half laugh from Sir Edward prevented the king's reply.

" Well crowed, my pretty fledgling," he said, half jesting,
half in scorn. " But knowest thou, to fight in very earnest is
something different than to read and chant it in a minstrel's
lay ? Better hie thee back to Florence, boy ; the mail suit
and crested helm are not for such as thee — better shun them
now, than after they are donned."

" How ! darest thou, Edward ? Edward, tempt me not too
far," exclaimed Nigel, his cheek flushing, and springing towards
him, his hand upon his half-drawn sword. " By heaven, wert
thou not my mother's son, I would compel thee to retract these
words, injurious, unjust ! How darest thou judge me coward,
till my cowardice is proved ? Thy blood is not more red than
mine."

"Peace, peace! what meaneth this unseemly broil?" said

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 39

Robert, hastily advancing between them, for the dark features
of Edward were lowering in wrath, and Nigel was excited to
unwonted fierceness. " Edward, begone ! and as thou saidst,
see to Sir Robert Keith — what news he brings. .Nigel, on thy
love, thy allegiance so lately proffered, if I read thy greeting
right, I pray thee heed not his taunting words. I do not doubt
thee ; 'twas for thy happiness, not for thy gallantry, I trembled.
Look not thus dejected ;" he held out his hand, which his
brother knelt to salute. " Nay, nay, thou foolish boy, forget
my new dignity a while, and now that rude brawler has de-
parted, tell me in sober wisdom, how earnest thou here ? How
didst thou know I might have need of thee ?" A quick blush
suffused the cheek of the young man ; he hesitated, evidently
confused. " Why, what ails thee, boy ? By St. Andrew,
Nigel, I do believe thou hast never quitted Scotland."

"And if I have not, my lord, what wilt thou deem me ?"

" A very strangely wayward boy, not knowing his own mind,"
replied the king, smiling. " Yet why should I say so ? I
never asked thy confidence, never sought it, or in any way re-
turned or appreciated thy boyish love, and why should I deem
thee wayward, never inquiring into thy projects — passing thee
by, perchance, as a wild visionary, much happier than myself?"

" And thou wilt think me yet more a visionary, I fear me,
Robert ; yet thine interest is too dear to pass unanswered,"
rejoined Nigel, after glancing round and perceiving they were
alone, for the abbot had departed with Sir Edward, seeking to
tame his reckless spirit.

" Know, then, to aid me in keeping aloof from the tyrant of
my country, whom instinctively I hated, I confined myself to
books and such lore yet more than my natural inclination
prompted, though that was strong enough — I had made a
solemn vow, rather to take the monk's cowl and frock, than re-
ceive knighthood from the hand of Edward of England, or raise
my sword at his bidding. My whole soul "yearned towards the
country of my fathers, that country which was theirs by royal
right ; and when the renown of Wallace reached my ears,
when, in my waking and sleeping dreams, I beheld the patriot
struggling for freedom, peace, the only one whose arm had
struck for Scotland, whose tongue had dared to speak resist-
ance, I longed wildly, intensely, vainly, to burst the thraldom
which held my race, and seek for death beneath the patriot

40 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

banner. I longed, yet dared not. My own death were wel-
come ; but mother, father, brothers, sisters, all were perilled,
had I done so. I stood, I deemed, alone in my enthusiast
dreams ; those I loved best, acknowledged, bowed before the
man my very spirit loathed ; and how dared I, a boy, a child,
stand forth arraigning and condemning ? But wherefore art
thou thus, Robert ? oh, what has thus moved thee ?"

Wrapped in his own earnest words and thoughts, Nigel had
failed until that moment to perceive the effect of his words
upon his brother. Robert's head had sunk upon his hand, and
his whole frame shook beneath some strong emotion ; evidently
striving to subdue it, some moments elapsed ere he could re-
ply, and then only in accents of bitter self-reproach. " Why,
why did not such thoughts come to me, instead of thee ?" he
said. " My youth had not wasted then in idle folly — worse,
oh, worse — in slavish homage, coward indecision, flitting like
the moth around the destructive flame ; and while I deemed
thee buried in romantic dreams, all a patriot's blood was rush-
ing in thy veins, while mine was dull and stagnant."

" But to flow forth the brighter, my own brother," inter-
rupted Nigel, earnestly. " Oh, I have watched thee, studied
thee, even as I loved thee, long ; and I have hoped, felt, known
that this day would dawn ; that thou wouldst rise for Scotland,
and she would rise for thee. Ah, now thou smilest as thyself,
and I will to my tale. The patriot died — let me not utter
how ; no Scottish tongue should speak those words, save with
the upraised arm and trumpet shout of vengeance ! I could
not rest in England then ; I could not face the tyrant who
dared proclaim and execute as traitor the noblest hero, purest
patriot, that ever walked this earth. But men said I sought
the lyric schools, the poet's haunts in Provence, and I wel-
comed the delusion ; but it was to Scotland that I came, un-
known, and silently, to mark if with her Wallace all life and
soul had fled. I saw enough to know that were there but a
fitting head, her hardy sons would struggle yet for freedom —
but not yet ; that chief art thou, and at the close of the last
year I took passage to Denmark, intending to rest there till
Scotland called me."

" And 'tis thence thou comest, Nigel ? Can it be, intelli-
gence of my movements hath reached so far north already ?"
inquired the king, somewhat surprised at the abruptness of his
brother's pause.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 41

" Not so, my liege. The vessel which bore me was wrecked
off the breakers of Buchan, and cast me back again to the arms
of Scotland. I found hospitality, shelter, kindness ; nay more,
were this a time and place to speak of happy, trusting love — "
he added, turning away from the Bruce's penetrating eye, " and
week after week passed, and found me still an inmate of the
Tower of Buchan."

" Buchan !" interrupted the king, hastily ; " the castle of a
Comyn, and thou speakest of love !"

" Of as true, as firm-hearted a Scottish patriot, my liege, as
ever lived in the heart of woman — one that has naught of
Comyn about her or her fair children but the name, as speedily
thou wilt haye proof. But in good time is my tale come to a
close, for hither comes good Sir Robert, and other noble knights,
who, by their eager brows, methinks, have matters of graver
import for thy grace's ear."

They entered as he spoke. The patriot nobles who, at the
first call of their rightful king, had gathered round his person,
few in number, yet firm in heart, ready to lay down fame, for-
tune, life, .beside his standard, rather than acknowledge the
foreign foe, who, setting aside all principles of knightly honor,
knightly faith, sought to claim their country as his own, their
persons as his slaves. Eager was the greeting of each and all
to the youthful Nigel, mingled with some surprise. Their con-
ference with the king was but brief, and as it comprised
matters more of speculation than of decided import, we will
pass on to a later period of the same evening.

CHAPTER IV.

" BUCHAN ! the Countess of Buchan, sayest thou, Athelbert ?
nay, 'tis scarce possible," said a fair and noble-looking woman,
still in the bloom of life, though early youth had passed, paus-
ing on her way to the queen's apartment, to answer some in-
formation given by the senior page.

" Indeed, madam, 'tis even so ; she arrived but now, escorted
by Sir Robert Keith and his followers, in addition to some fifty
of the retainers of Buchan."

42 THE DAYS OF BRUCE. '

" And hath she lodging within the palace ?"

" Yes, madam ; an it please you, I will conduct you to her,
'tis but a step beyond the royal suite."

She made him a sign of assent, and followed him slowly, as
if musingly.

" It is strange, it is very strange," she thought, " yet scarcely
so ; she was ever in heart and soul a patriot, nor has she seen
enough of her husband to change such sentiments. Yet, for
her own sake, perchance it had been better had she not taken
this rash step ; 'tis a desperate game we play, and the fewer
lives and fortunes wrecked the better."

Her cogitations were interrupted by hearing her name an-
nounced in a loud voice by the page, and finding herself in
presence of the object of her thoughts.

" Isabella, dearest Isabella, 'tis even thine own dear self. I
deemed the boy's tale well-nigh impossible," was her hasty ex-
clamation, as with a much quicker step she advanced towards
the countess, who met her half-way, and warmly returned her
embrace, saying as she did so —

" This is kind, indeed, dearest Mary, to welcome me so soon ;
'tis long, long years since we have met ; but they have left as
faint a shadow on thy affections as on mine."

"Indeed, thou judgest me truly, Isabella. Sorrow, me-
thinks, doth but soften the heart and render the memory of
young affections, youthful pleasures, the more vivid, the more
lasting : we think of what we have been, or what we are, and
the contrast heightens into perfect bliss that which at the time,
perchance, we deemed but perishable joy."

" Hast thou too learnt such lesson, Mary ? I hoped its lore
was all unknown to thee."

" It was, indeed, deferred so long, so blessedly, I dared to
picture perfect happiness on earth ; but since my husband's
hateful captivity, Isabella, there can be little for his wife but
anxiety and dread. But these — are these thine ?" she added,
gazing admiringly and tearfully on Agnes and Alan, who had
at their mother's sign advanced from the embrasure, where
they had held low yet earnest converse, and gracefully acknowl-
edged the stranger's notice. " Oh, wherefore bring them here,
my friend ?"

" Wherefore, lady ?" readily and impetuously answered
Alan ; " art thou a friend of Isabella of Buchan, and asketh

THE DAYS OF BKTJCE. 43

wherefore ? Where our sovereign is, should not his subjects
be?"

" Thy mother's friend and sovereign's sister, noble boy, and
yet I grieve to see thee here. The Bruce is but in name a
king, uncrowned as yet and unanointed. His kingdom bounded
by the confines of this one fair county, struggling for every
acre at the bright sword's point."

" The greater glory for his subjects, lady," answered the
youth. " The very act of proclaiming himself long removes
the chains of Scotland, and flings down her gage. Fear not,
he shall be king ere long in something more than name."

" And is it thus a Comyn speaks ?" said the Lady Camp-
bell. " Ah, were the idle feuds of petty minds thus laid at
rest, bold boy, thy dreams might e'en be truth ; but knowest
thou, young man — knowest thou, Isabella, the breach between
the Comyn and the Bruce is widened, and, alas ! by blood ?"

" Aye, lady ; but what boots it ? A traitor should have no
name, no kin, or those who bear that name should wash away
their race's stain by nobler deeds of loyalty and valor."

" It would be well did others think with thee," replied Lady
Campbell ; " yet I fear me in such sentiments the grandson of
the loyal Fife will stand alone. Isabella, dearest Isabella," she
added, laying her hand on the arm of the countess, and draw-
ing her away from her children, " hast thou done well in this
decision ? hast thou listened to the calmer voice of prudence
as was thy wont ? hast thou thought on all the evils thou
mayest draw upon thy head, and -upon these, so lovely and so
dear ?"

" Mary, I have thought, weighed, pondered, and yet I am
here," answered the countess, firmly, yet in an accent that still
bespoke some inward struggle. " I know, I feel all, all that
thou wouldst urge ; that I am exposing my brave boy to death,
perchance, by a father's hand, bringing him hither to swear
fealty, to raise his sword for the Bruce, in direct opposition to
my husband's politics, still more to his Avill ; yet, Mary, there
are mutual duties between a parent and a child. My poor boy
has ever from his birth been fatherless. No kindly word, no
glowing smile has ever met his infancy, his boyhood. He
scarce can know his father — the love, the reverence of a son it
would have been such joy to teach. Left to my sole care,
could I instil sentiments other than those a father's lips be-

4A THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

stowed on me ? Could I instruct him in aught save love, de-
votion to his country, to her rights, her king ? I have done
this so gradually, my friend, that for the burst of loyalty, of
impetuous gallantry, which ansAvered Sir Robert Keith's ap-
peal, I was well-nigh unprepared. My father, my noble father
breathes in my boy ; and oh, Mary, better, better far lose him
on the battle-field, struggling for Scotland's freedom, glorying
in his fate, rejoicing, blessing me for lessons I have taught, than
see him as my husband, as my brother — alas ! alas ! that I
should live to say it — cringing as slaves before the footstool of
a tyrant and oppressor. Had he sought it, had he loved —
treated me as a wife, Mary, I would have given my husband
all — all a woman's duty — all, save the dictates of my soul, but
even this he trampled on, despised, rejected ; and shall I, dare
I then forget, oppose the precepts of that noble heart, that
patriot spirit which breathed into mine the faint reflection of
itself? — offend the dead, the hallowed dead, my father — the
heart that loved me ?"

She paused, in strong, and for the moment overpowering,
emotion. The clear, rich tones had never faltered till she spoke
of him beloved even in death — faltered not, even when she
spoke of death as the portion of her child ; it was but the
quivering of lip and eye by which the anguish of that thought
could have been ascertained. Lady Campbell clasped her
hand.

" Thou hast in very truth silenced me, my Isabella," she
said ; " there is no combating with thoughts as these. Thine
is still the same noble soul, exalted mind that I knew in youth :
sorrow and time have had no power on these."

" Save to chasten and to purify, I trust," rejoined the coun-
tess, in her own calm tone. " Thrown back upon my own
strength, it must have gathered force, dear Mary, or have per-
ished altogether. But thou speakest, methinks, but too de-
spondingly of our sovereign's prospects — are they indeed so
desperate ?"

" Desperate, indeed, Isabella. Even his own family, with
the sole exception of that rash madman, Edward, must look
upon it thus. How thinkest thou Edward of England will
brook this daring act of defiance, of what he will deem rank
apostasy and traitorous rebellion ? Aged, infirm as he is now,
he will not permit this bold attempt to pass unpunished. The

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 45

whole strength of England will be gathered together, and pour
its devastating fury on this devoted land. And what to this
has Robert to oppose ? Were he undisputed sovereign of
Scotland, we might, without cowardice, be permitted to trem-
ble, threatened as he is ; but confined, surrounded by English,
with scarce a town or fort to call his own, his enterprise is mad-
ness, Isabella, patriotic as it may be."

" Oh, do not say so, Mary. Has he not some noble barons
already by his side ? will not, nay, is not Scotland rising to
support him ? hath he not the hearts, the prayers, the swords
of all whose mountain homes and freeborn rights are dearer
than the yoke of Edward ? and hath he not, if rumor speaks
aright, within himself a host — not mere valor alone, but
prudence, foresight, military skill — all, all that marks a gen-
eral ?"

"As rumor speaks. Thou dost not know him then?" in-
quired Lady Campbell.

" How could I, dearest ? Hast thou forgotten thy anxiety
that we should meet, when we were last together, holding at
naught, in thy merry mood, my betrothment to Lord John —
that I should turn him from his wandering ways, and make him
patriotic as myself? Thou seest, Mary, thy brother needed
not such influence."

" Of a truth, no," answered her friend ; " for his present
partner is a very contrast to thyself, and would rather, by her
weak and trembling fears, dissuade him from his purpose than
inspire and encourage it. Well do I remember that fancy of
my happy childhood, and still I wish it had been so, all idle as
it seems — strange that ye never met."

" Nay, save thyself, Mary, thy family resided more in Eng-
land than in Scotland, and for the last seventeen years the ter-
ritory of Buchan has been my only home, with little interrup-
tion to my solitude ; yet I have heard much of late of the Earl
of Carrick, and from whom thinkest thou? — thou canst not
guess — even from thy noble brother Nigel."

" Nigel !" repeated Lady Mary, much surprised.

" Even so, sweet sister, learning dearer lore and lovelier tales
than even Provence could instil ; 'tis not the land, it is the heart
where poesie dwells," rejoined Nigel Bruce, gayly, advancing
from the side of Agnes, where he had been lingering the greater
part of the dialogue between his sister and the countess, and

46 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

now joined them. " Aye, Mary," he continued, tenderly, " my
own land is dearer than the land of song."

" And dear art thou to Scotland, Nigel ; but I knew not thy
fond dreams and wild visions could find resting amid the desert
crags and barren plains of Buchan."

" Yet have we not been idle. Dearest Agnes, wilt thou not
speak for me ? the viol hath not been mute, nor the fond harp
unstruno- ; and deeper, dearer lessons have thy lips instilled,
than could have flowed from fairest lips and sweetest songs of
Provence. Nay, blush not, dearest. Mary, thou must love
this gentle girl," he added, as he led her forward, and laid the
hand of Agnes in his sister's. "

" Is it so ? then may we indeed be united, though not as I
in my girlhood dreamed, my Isabella," said Lady Campbell,
kindly parting the clustering curls, and looking fondly on the
maiden's blushing face. She was about to speak again, when
steps were heard along the corridor, and unannounced, unat-
tended, save by the single page who drew aside the hangings,
King Robert entered. He had doffed the armor in which we
«aw him first, for a plain yet rich suit of dark green velvet, cut
and slashed with cloth of gold, and a long mantle of the richest
crimson, secured at his throat by a massive golden clasp, from
which gleamed the glistening rays of a large emerald ; a brooch
of precious stones, surrounded by diamonds, clasped the white
ostrich feather in his cap, and the shade of the drooping plume,
heightened perhaps by the advance of evening, somewhat ob-
scured his features, but there was that in his majestic mien, in
the noble yet dignified bearing, which could not for one mo-
ment be mistaken ; and it needed not the word of Nigel to
cause the youthful Alan to spring from the couch where he
had listlessly thrown himself, and stand, suddenly silenced and
abashed.

" My liege and brother," exclaimed Lady Campbell, eagerly,
as she hastily led forward the Countess of Buchan, who sunk
at once on her knee, overpowered by the emotion of a patriot,
thinking only of her country, only of her sovereign, as one in-
spired by heaveji to attempt her rescue, and give her freedom,
" How glad am I that it has fallen on me to present to your
grace, in the noble Countess of Buchan, the chosen friend of
my girlhood, the only descendant of the line of Macduff worthy
to bear that name. Allied as unhappily she is to the family of

THE DAYS OF BKUOE. 47

Corayn, yet still, still most truly, gloriously, a patriot and loyal
subject of your grace, as her being here, with all she holds most
dear, most precious upon earth, will prove far better than her
friend's poor words."

" Were they most rich in eloquence, Mary, believe me, we
yet should need them not, in confirmation of this most noble
lady's faithfulness and worth," answered the king, with ready
courtesy, and in accents that were only too familiar to the ear
of Isabella. She started, and gazed up for the first time, see-
ing fully the countenance of the sovereign. " Rise, lady, we
do beseech you, rise ; we are not yet so familiar with the forms
of royalty as to behold without some shame a noble lady at
our feet. Nay, thou art pale, very pale ; thy coming hither
hath been too rapid, too hurried for thy strength, methinks ; I
do beseech you, sit." Gently he raised her, and leading her
gallantly to one of the cumbrous couches near them, placed her
upon it, and sat down beside her. " Ha ! that is well ; thou
art better now. Knowest thou, Mary, thine office would have
been more wisely performed, hadst thou presented me to the
Countess of Buchan, not her to me."

" Thou speakest darkly, good my liege, yet I joy to see thee
thus jestingly inclined."

" Nay, 'tis no jest, fair sister ; the Countess of Buchan and I
have met before, though she knew me but as a wild, heedless
stripling first, and a moody, discontented soldier afterwards. I
owe thee much, gentle lady ; much for the night's lodging thy
hospitality bestowed, though at the time my mood was such it
had no words of courtesy, no softening fancy, even to thyself;
much for the kindness thou didst bestow, not only then, but
when fate first threw us together ; and therefore do I seek thee,
lady — therefore would I speak to thee, as the friend of former
years, not as the sovereign of Scotland, and as such received
by thee." He spoke gravely, with somewhat of sadness in his
rich voice. Perhaps it was well for the countess no other an-
swer than a grateful bow was needed, for the sudden faintness
which had withdrawn the color from her cheek yet lingered,
sufficient to render the exertion of speaking painful.

" Yet pause one moment, my liege," said Nigel, playfully
leading Alan forward ; " give me one moment, ere you fling
aside your kingly state. Here is a young soldier, longing to
rush into the very thickest of a fight that may win a golden

48 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

spur and receive knighthood at your grace's hand ; a doughty
spokesman, who was to say a marvellously long speech of duty,
homage, and such like, but whose tongue at sight of thee has
turned traitor to its cause. Have mercy on him, good my
lieo-e; I'll answer that his arm is less a traitor than his tongue."

" We do not doubt it, Nigel, and will accept thy words for
his. Be satisfied, young sir, the willing homage of all true men
is precious to King Robert. And thou, fair maiden, wilt thou,
too, follow thy monarch's fortunes, cloudy though they seem?
we read thine answer in thy blushing cheek, and thus we thank
thee, maiden."

He threw aside his plumed cap, and gallantly yet respectfully
saluted the fair, soft cheek ; confused yet pleased, Agnes looked
doubtingly towards Nigel, who, smiling a happy, trusting, joy-
ous smile, led her a few minutes apart, whispered some fond
words, raised her hand to his lips, and summoning Alan, they
left the room together.

" Sir Robert Keith informs me, noble lady," said the king,
again addressing Isabella, " that it is your determination to rep-
resent, in your own proper person, the ancient line of Duff at
the approaching ceremony, and demand from our hands, as
such representative, the privilege granted by King Malcolm to
your noble ancestor and his descendants, of placing on the sov-
ereign's brow the coronet of Scotland. Is it not so ?"

" I do indeed most earnestly demand this privilege, my gra-
cious liege," answered the countess, firmly ; " demand it as a
right, a glorious right, made mine by the weak and fickle con-
duct of my brother. Alas ! the only male descendant of that
line which until now hath never known a traitor."

" But hast thou well considered, lady ? There is danger in
this act, danger even to thyself."

" My liege, that there is danger threatening all the patriots
of Scotland, monarch or serf, male or female, I well know ; yet
in what does it threaten me more in this act, than in the mere
acknowledgment of the Earl of Carrick as my sovereign ?"

" It will excite the rage of Edward of England against thy-
self individually, lady ; I know him well, only too well. All
who join in giving countenance and aid to my inauguration will
be proclaimed, hunted, placed under the ban of traitors, and, if
unfortunately taken, will in all probability share the fate of
Wallace." His voice became husky with strong emotion.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 4:9

" There is no exception in his sweeping tyranny ; youth and
age, noble and serf, of either sex, of either land, if they raise
the sword for Bruce and freedom, will fall by the hangman's
cord or headsman's axe ; and I, alas ! must look on and bear,
for I have neither men nor power to avert such fate ; and that
hand which places on my head the crown, death, death, a
cruel death, will be the doom of its patriot owner. Think,
think on this, and oh, retract thy noble resolution, ere it be
too late."

" Is she who gives the crown in greater danger, good my
liege, than he who wears it ?" demanded the countess, with a
calm and quiet smile.

" Nay," he answered, smiling likewise for the moment, " but
I were worse than traitor, did I shrink from Scotland in her
need, and refuse her diadem, in fear, forsooth, of death at Ed-
ward's hands. No ! I have held back too long, and now will
I not turn back till Scotland's freedom is achieved, or Robert
Bruce lies with the slain. Repentance for the past, hope, am-
bition for the future ; a firm heart and iron frame, a steady arm
and sober mood, to meet the present — I have these, sweet lady,
to fit and nerve me for the task, but not such hast thou. I
doubt not thy patriot soul ; perchance 'twas thy lip that first
awoke the slumbering fire within my own breast, and though
a while forgotten, recalled, when again I looked on thee, after
Falkirk's fatal battle, with the charge, the solemn charge of
Wallace yet ringing in mine ears. Yet, lady, noble lady, tempt
not the fearful fate which, shouldst thou fall into Edward's
hands, I know too well will be thine own. I dare not promise
sure defence from his o'erwhelming hosts : on every side they
compass me. I see sorrow and death for all I love, all who
swear fealty to me. I shall succeed in the end, for heaven, just
heaven will favor the righteous cause ; but trouble and anguish
must be my lot ere then, and I would save those I can. Re-
main with us an thou wilt, gratefully I accept the homage so
nobly and unhesitatingly tendered ; but still I beseech thee,
lady, expose not thy noble self to the blind wrath of Edward,
as thou surely wilt, if from thy hand I receive my country's
crown."

" My liege," answered the countess, in that same calm, quiet
tone, " I have heard thee with a deep grateful sense of the no-
ble feeling, the kindly care which dictates thy words ; yet

3

50 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

pardon me, if they fail to shake my resolution — a resolution
not lightly formed, not the mere excitement of a patriotic mo-
ment, but one based on the principles of years, on the firm,
solemn conviction, that in taking this sacred office on myself,
the voice of the dead is obeyed, the memory of the dead, the
noble dead, preserved from stain, inviolate and pure. Would
my father have kept aloof in such an hour — refused to place
on the brow of Scotland's patriot king the diadem of his fore-
fathers— held back in fear of Edward ? Oh ! would that his iron
hand and loyal heart were here instead of mine ; gladly would
I lay me down in his cold home and place him at thy side,
might such things be ; but as it is, my liege, I do beseech thee,
cease to urge me. I have but a woman's frame, a woman's
heart, and yet death hath no fear for me. Let Edward work
his will, if heaven ordain I fall into his ruthless hands ; death
comes but once, 'tis but a momentary pang, and rest and bliss
shall follow. My father's spirit breathes within me, and as he
would, so let his daughter do. Tis not now a time to depart
from ancient forms, my gracious sovereign, and there are those
in Scotland who scarce would deem thee crowned, did not the
blood of Fife perform that holy office."

" And this, then, noble lady, is thy firm resolve — I may not
hope to change it ?"

" 'Tis firm as the ocean rock, my liege. I do not sue thee
to permit my will ; the blood of Macduff, which rushes in my
veins, doth mark it as my right, and as my right I do demand
it." She stood in her majestic beauty, proudly and firmly be-
fore him, and unconsciously the king acknowledged and revered
the dauntless spirit that lovely form enshrined.

" Lady," he said, raising her hand with reverence to his lips,
" do as thou wilt : a weaker spirit would have shrunk at once
in terror from the very thought of such open defiance to King
Edward. I should have known the mind that framed such
daring purpose would never shrink from its fulfilment, however
danger threatened ; enough, we know thy faithfulness and
worth, and where to seek for brave and noble counsel in the
hour of need. And now, may it be our privilege to present
thee to our queen, sweet lady ? We shall rejoice to see thee
ever near her person."

" I pray your grace excuse me for this night," answered the
countess ; " we have made some length of way to-day, and, if it

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 51

please you, I would seek rest. Agnes shall supply my place ;
Mary, thou wilt guard her, wilt thou not ?"

" Nay, be mine the grateful task," said the king, gayly taking
the maiden's hand, and, after a few words of courtesy, he quit-
ted the chamber, followed by his sister.

There were sounds of mirth and revelry that night in the
ancient halls of Scone, for King Robert, having taken upon
himself the state and consequence of sovereignty, determined
on encouraging the high spirits and excited joyousness of his
gallant followers by all the amusements of chivalry which his
confined and precarious situation permitted, and seldom was it
that the dance and minstrelsy did not echo blithely in the
royal suite for many hours of the evening, even when the day
had brought with it anxiety and fatigue, and even intervals of
despondency. There were many noble dames and some few
youthful maidens in King Robert's court, animated by the same
patriotic spirit which led their husbands and brothers to risk
fortune and life in the service of their country : they preferred
sharing and alleviating their dangers and anxieties, by throng-
ing round the Brace's wife, to the precarious calm and safety
of their feudal castles ; and light-heartedness and glee shed
their bright gleams on these social hours, never clouded by the
gloomy shades that darkened the political horizon of the Bruce's
fortunes. Perchance this night there was a yet brighter ra-
diance cast over the royal halls, there was a spirit of light and
glory in every word and action of the youthful enthusiast, Ni-
gel Bruce, that acted as with magic power on all around ;
known in the court of England but as a moody visionary boy,
whose dreams were all too ethereal to guide him in this nether
world, whose hand, however fitted to guide a pen, was all too
weak to wield a sword ; the change, or we should rather say
the apparent change, perceived in him occasioned many an
eye to gaze in silent wonderment, and, in the superstition of
the time, argue well for the fortunes of one brother from the
marvellous effect observable in the countenance and mood of
the other.

The hopefulness of youth, its rosy visions, its smiling dreams,
all sparkled in his bright blue eye, in the glad, free, ringing
joyance of his deep rich voice, his cloudless smiles. And oh,
who is there can resist the witchery of life's young hopes, whc
does not feel the warm blood run quicker through his veins,

52 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

and bid his heart throb even as it hath throbbed in former
days, and the gray hues of life melt away before the rosy glow
of youth, even as the calm cold aspect of waning night is lost
in the warmth and loveliness of the infant morn ? And what
was the magic acting on the enthusiast himself, that all traces
of gloom and pensive thought were banished from his brow,
that the full tide of poetry within his soul seemed thrilling on
his lip, breathing in his simplest word, entrancing his whole
being in joy ? Scarce could he himself have defined its cause,
such a multitude of strong emotions were busy at his heart.
He saw not the dangers overhanging the path of the Bruce,
he only saw and only felt him as his sovereign, as his brother,
his friend, destined to be all that he had hoped, prayed, and
believed he would be ; willing to accept and return the affec-
tion he had so long felt, and give him that friendship and con-
fidence for which he had yearned in vain so long. He saw his
country free, independent, unshackled, glorious as of old ; and
there was a light and lovely being mingling in these stirring
visions — when Scotland was free, what happiness would not
be his own ! Agnes, who flitted before him in that gay scene,
the loveliest, dearest object there, clinging to him in her timid-
ity, shrinking from the gaze of the warriors around, respectful
as it was, feeling that all was strange, all save him to whom
her young heart was vowed — if such exclusiveness was dear
to him, if it were bliss to him to feel that, save her young
brother, he alone had claim upon her notice and her smile, oh !
what would it be when she indeed was all, all indi visibly his
own ? Was it marvel, then, his soul was full of the joy that
beamed forth from his eye, and lip, and brow — that his faintest
tone breathed gladness ?

There was music and mirth in the royal halls : the shadow
of care had passed before the full sunshine of hope ; but with-
in that palace wall, not many roods removed from the royal
suite, was one heart struggling with its lone agony, striving for
calm, for peace, for rest, to escape from the deep waters threat-
ening to overwhelm it. Hour after hour beheld the Countess
of Buchan in the same spot, well-nigh in the same attitude ;
the agonized dream of her youth had come upon her yet once
again, the voice whose musical echoes had never faded from her
ear, once more had sounded in its own deep thrilling tones, his
hand had pressed her own, his eye had met hers, aye, and dwelt

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 53

upon her with the unfeigned reverence and admiration which
had marked its expression years before ; and it was to him her
soul had yearned in all the fervidness of loyalty, not to a stran-
ger, as she had deemed him. Loyalty, patriotism, reverence
her sovereign claimed, aye, and had received ; but now how dare
she encourage such emotions towards one it had been, aye, it
was her duty to forget, to think of no more ? Had her hus-
band been fond, sought the noble heart which felt so bitterly
his neglect, the gulf which now divided them might never have
existed ; and could she still the voice of that patriotism, that
loyalty towards a free just monarch, which the dying words of
a parent had so deeply inculcated, and which the sentiments of
her own heart had increased in steadiness and strength ? On
what had that lone heart to rest, to subdue its tempest, to give
it nerve and force, to rise pure in thought as in deed, unstained,
unshaded in its nobleness, what but its own innate purity ? Yet
fearful was the storm that passed over, terrible the struggle
which shook that bent form, as in lowliness and contrition, and
agony of spirit, she knelt before the silver crucifix, and called
upon heaven in its mercy to give peace and strength — fierce,
fierce and terrible ; but the agonized cry was heard, the stormy
waves were stilled.

CHAPTER V.

BRIGHTLY and blithely dawned the 26th of March, 1306, for
the loyal inhabitants of Scone. Few who might gaze on the
olden city, and marked the flags and pennons waving gayly and
proudly on every side ; the rich tapestry flung over balconies or
hung from the massive windows, in every street ; the large
branches of oak and laurel, festooned with gay ribands, that
stood beside the entrance of every house which boasted any
consequence ; the busy citizens in goodly array, with their wives
and families, bedecked to the best of their ability, all, as in-
spired by one spirit, hurrying in the direction of the abbey
yard, joining the merry clamor of eager voices to the continued
peal of every bell of which the old town could boast, sounding
loud and joyously even above the roll of the drum or the shrill
trumpet call ; — those who marked these things might well be-

54 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

lieve Scotland was once again the same free land, which had
hailed in the same town the coronation of Alexander the Third,
some years before. Little would they deem that the foreign
foeman still thronged her feudal holds and cottage homes, that
they waited but the commands of their monarch, to pour down
on all sides upon the daring individual who thus boldly assumed
the state and solemn honor of a king, and, armed but by his
own high heart and a handful of loyal followers, prepared to
resist, defend, and/ree, or die for Scotland.

There was silence — deep, solemn, yet most eloquent silence,
reigning in the abbey church of Scone. The sun shining in
that full flood of glory we sometimes find in the infant spring,
illumined as with golden lustre the long, narrow casements,
falling thence in flickering brilliance on the pavement floor, its
rays sometimes arrested, to revolve in heightened lustre from
the glittering sword or the suit of half-mail of one or other of
the noble knights assembled there. The rich plate of the ab-
bey, all at least which had escaped the cupidity of Edward,
was arranged with care upon the various altars ; in the centre
of the church was placed the abbot's oaken throne, which was
to supply the place of the ancient stone, the coronation seat of
the Scottish kings — no longer there, its absence felt by one and
all within that church as the closing seal to Edward's infamy —
the damning proof that as his slave, not as his sister kingdom,
he sought to render Scotland. From the throne to the high
altar, where the king was to. receive the eucharist, a carpet of
richly-brocaded Genoa velvet was laid down ; a cushion of the
same elegantly-wrought material marked the place beside the
spot where he was to kneel. Priests, in their richest vestments,
officiated at the high altar ; six beautiful boys, bearing alter-
nately a large waxen candle, and the golden censers filled with
the richest incense, stood beside them, while opposite the altar
and behind the throne, in an elevated gallery, were ranged the
seventy choristers of the abbey, thirty of whom were youthful
novices ; behind them a massive screen or curtain of tapestry
concealed the organ, and gave a yet more startling and thrilling
effect to its rich deep tones, thus bursting, as it were, from
spheres unseen.

The throne was already occupied by the patriot king, clothed
in his robes of state ; his inner dress was a doublet and vest of
white velvet, slashed with cloth of silver ; his stockings, fitting

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 55

tight to the knee, were of the finest woven white silk, confined
where they met the doublet with a broad band of silver ; his
shoes of white velvet, broidered with silver, in unison with his
dress ; a scarf of cloth of silver passed over his right shoulder,
fastened there by a jewelled clasp, and, crossing his breast, se-
cured his trusty sword to his left side ; his head, of course,
was bare, and his fair hair, parted carefully on his arched and
noble brow, descended gracefully on either side ; his counte-
nance was perfectly calm, unexpressive of aught save of a deep
sense of the solemn service in which he was engaged. There
was not the faintest trace of either anxiety or exultation —
naught that could shadow the brows of his followers, or dimin-
ish by one particle the love and veneration which in every heart
were rapidly gaining absolute dominion.

On the right of the king stood the Abbot of Scone, the
Archbishop of St. Andrew's, and Bishop of Glasgow, all of
which venerable prelates had instantaneously and unhesitatingly
declared for the Bruce ; ranged on either side of the throne,
according more to seniority than rank, were seated the brothers
of the Bruce and the loyal barons who had joined his standard.
Names there were already famous in the annals of patriot-
ism— Fraser, Lennox, Athol, Hay — whose stalwart arms had
so nobly struck for Wallace, whose steady minds had risen
superior to the petty emotions of jealousy and envy which had
actuated so many of similar rank. These were true patriots,
and gladly and freely they once more rose for Scotland. Sir
Christopher Seaton, brother-in-law to the Bruce, Somerville,
Keith, St. Clair, the young Lord Douglas, and Thomas Ran-
dolph, the king's nephew, were the most noted of those now
around the Bruce ; yet on that eventful day not more than
fourteen barons were mustered round their sovereign, exclusive
of his four gallant brothers, who were in themselves a host.
All these were attired with the care and gallantry their preca-
rious situation permitted ; half armor, concealed by flowing
scarfs and graceful mantles, or suits of gayer seeming among
the younger knights, for those of the barons' followers of gentle
blood and chivalric training were also admitted within the
church, forming a goodly show of gallant men. Behind them,
on raised seats, which were divided from the body of the
church by an open railing of ebony, sate the ladies of the court,
the seat of the queen distinguished from the rest by its canopy

56 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

and cushion of embroidered taffeta, and amongst those gentle
beings fairest and loveliest shone the maiden of Buchan, as she
sate in smiling happiness between the youthful daughter of the
Bruce, the Princess Margory, and his niece, the Lady Isoline,
children of ten and fourteen, who already claimed her as their
companion and friend.

The color was bright on the soft cheek of Agnes, the smile
laughed alike in her lip and eye ; for ever and anon, from amidst
the courtly crowd beneath, the deep blue orb of Nigel Bruce
met hers, speaking in its passioned yet respectful gaze, all that
could whisper joy and peace unto a heart, young, loving, and
confiding, as that of Agnes. The evening previous he had de-
tached the blue riband which confined her flowing curls, and
it was with a feeling of pardonable pride she beheld it suspended
from his neck, even in that hour, when his rich habiliments and
the imposing ceremony of the day marked him the brother of
a king. Her brother, too, was at his side, gazing upon his
sovereign with feelings, whose index, marked as it was on his
brow, gave him the appearance of being older than he was.
It was scarcely the excitement of a mere boy, who rejoiced in
the state and dignity around him ; the emotion of his mother
had sunk upon his very soul, subduing the wild buoyancy of
his spirit, and bidding him feel deeply and sadly the situation
in which he stood. It seemed to him as if he had never thought
before, and now that reflection had come upon him, it was
fraught with a weight and gloom he could not remove and
scarcely comprehend. He felt no power on earth could pre-
vent his taking the only path which was open to the true pa-
triot of Scotland, and in following that path he raised the stand-
ard of revolt, and enlisted his own followers against his father.
Till the moment of action he had dreamed not of these things ;
but the deep anxieties, the contending feelings of his mother,
which, despite her controlled demeanor, his heart perceived,
could not but have their effect, and premature manhood was
stealing fast upon his heart.

Upon the left of the king, and close beside his throne, stood
the Countess of Buchan, attired in robes of the darkest crimson
velvet, with a deep border of gold, which swept the ground, and
long falling sleeves with a broad fringe ; a thick cord of gold
and tassels confined the robe around the waist, and thence fell
reaching to her feet, and well-nigh concealing the inner dress

THE DATS OF BKUCE. 57

of white silk, which was worn to permit the robes falling easily
on either side, and thus forming a long train behind. Neither
gem nor gold adorned her beautiful hair ; a veil was twisted
in its luxuriant tresses, and served the purpose of the matron's
coif. She was pale and calm, but such was the usual expres-
sion of her countenance, and perhaps accorded better with the
dignified majesty of her commanding figure than a greater play
of feature. It was not the calmness of insensibility, of vacancy,
it was the still reflection of a controlled and chastened soul, of
one whose depth and might was known but to herself.

The pealing anthem for a while had ceased, and it was as if
that church was desolate, as if the very hearts that throbbed
so quickly for their country and their king were hushed a while
and stilled, that every word which passed between the sover-
eign and the primate should be heard. Kneeling before him,
his hands placed between those of the archbishop, the king, in
a clear and manly voice, received, as it were, the kingdom from
his hands, and swore to govern according to the laws of his an-
cestors ; to defend the liberties of his people alike from the
foreign and the civil foe ; to dispense justice ; to devote life it-
self to restoring Scotland to her former station in the scale of
kingdoms. Solemnly, energetically, he took the required vows ;
his cheek flushed, his eye glistened, and ere he rose he bent
his brow upon his spread hands, as if his spirit supplicated
strength, and the primate, standing over him, blessed him, in a
loud voice, in the name of Him whose lowly minister he was.

A few minutes, and the king was again seated on his throne,
and from the hands of the Bishop of Glasgow, the Countess of
Buchan received the simple coronet of gold, which had been
hastily made to supply the place of that which Edward had
removed. It was a moment of intense interest : every eye was
directed towards the king and the dauntless woman by his side,
who, rather than the descendant of Malcolm Cean Mohr should
demand in vain the service from the descendants of the brave
Macduff, exposed herself to all the wrath of a fierce and cruel
king, the fury of an incensed husband and brother, and in her
own noble person represented that ancient and most loyal line.
Were any other circumstance needed to enhance the excitement
of the patriots of Scotland, they would have found it in this.
As it was, a sudden, irrepressible burst of applause broke from
many eager voices as the bishop placed the coronet in her hands,

3*

58 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

but one glance from those dark, eloquent eyes sufficed to hush
it on the instant into stillness.

Simultaneously all within the church stood up, and gracefully
and steadily, with a hand which trembled not, even to the
observant and anxious eyes of her son, Isabella of Buchan
placed the sacred symbol of royalty on the head of Scotland's
king ; and then arose, as with one voice, the wild enthusiastic
shout of loyalty, which, bursting from all within the church,
was echoed again and again from without, almost drowning the
triumphant anthem which at the same moment sent its rich,
hallowed tones through the building, and proclaimed Robert
Bruce indeed a king.

Again and yet again the voice of triumph and of loyalty
arose hundred-tongued, and sent its echo even to the English
camp ; and when it ceased, when slowly, and as it were reluc-
tantly, it died away, it was a grand and glorious sight to see
those stern and noble barons one by one approach their sov-
ereign's throne and do him homage.

It was not always customary for the monarchs of those days
to receive the feudal homage of their vassals the same hour of
their coronation, it was in general a distinct and almost equally
gorgeous ceremony ; but in this case both the king and barons
felt it better policy to unite them ; the excitement attendant on
the one ceremonial they felt would prevent the deficiency of
numbers in the other being observed, and they acted wisely.

There was a dauntless firmness in each baron's look, in his
manly carriage and unwavering step, as one by one he trav-
ersed the space between him and the throne, seeming to pro-
claim that in himself he held indeed a host. To adhere to the
usual custom of paying homage to the suzerain bareheaded, bare-
footed, and unarmed, the embroidered slipper had been adopted
by all instead of the iron boot ; and as he knelt before the
throne, the Earl of Lennox, for, first in rank, he first approached
his sovereign, unbuckling his trusty sword, laid it, together with
his dagger, at Robert's feet, and placing his clasped hands
between those of the king, repeated, in a deep sonorous voice,
the solemn vow — to live and die with him against all manner
of men. Athol, Fraser, Seaton, Douglas, Hay, gladly and
willingly followed his example ; and it was curious to mark
the character of each man, proclaimed in his mien and hurried
step.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 59

The calm, controlled, and somewhat thoughtful manner of
those grown wise in war, their bold spirits feeling to the inmost
soul the whole extent of the risk they run, scarcely daring to
anticipate the freedom of their country, the emancipation of
their king from the heavy yoke that threatened him, and yet so
firm in the oath they pledged, that had destruction yawned
before them ere they reached the throne, they would have dared
it rather than turned back — and then again those hot and
eager youths, feeling, knowing but the excitement of the hour,
believing but as they hoped, seeing but a king, a free and inde-
pendent king, bounding from their seats to the monarch's feet,
regardless of the solemn ceremonial in which they took a part,
desirous only, in the words of their oath, to live and die for
him — caused a brighter flush to mantle on King Robert's cheek,
and his eyes to shine with new and radiant light. None knew
better than himself the perils that encircled him, yet there was
a momentary glow of exultation in his heart as he looked oil
the noble warriors, the faithful friends around him, and felt
that they, even they, representatives of the oldest, the noblest
houses in Scotland — men famed not alone for their gallant bear-
ing in war, but their fidelity and wisdom, and unstained honor
and virtue in peace — even they acknowledged him their king,
and vowed him that allegiance which was never known to fail.

Alan of Buchan was the last of that small yet noble train
who approached his sovereign. There was a hot flush of im-
petuous feeling on the boy's cheek, an indignant tear trembled
in his dark flashing eye, and his voice, sweet, thrilling as it was,
quivered with the vain effort to restrain his emotion.

" Sovereign of Scotland," he exclaimed, " descendant of that
glorious line of kings to whom my ancestors have until this dark
day vowed homage and allegiance ; sovereign of all good and
faithful men, on whose inmost souls the name of Scotland is so
indelibly writ, that even in death it may there be found, refuse
not thou my homage. I have but my sword, not e'en a name
of which to boast, yet hear me swear," he raised his clasped
hands towards heaven, " swear that for thee, for my country,
for thee alone, will I draw it, alone shall my life be spent, my
blood be shed. Reject me not because my name is Comyn,
because I alone am here of that once loyal house. Oh ! con-
demn me not ; reject not untried ar loyal heart and trusty
syord."

60 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

" Reject thee," said King Robert, laying his hand kindly on
the boy's shoulder ; "reject thee, young soldier," he said, cheer-
ingly : " in Alan of Buchan we see but the noble son of our
right noble countrywoman, the Lady Isabella ; we see in him
but a worthy descendant of. Macduff, the noble scion, though
but by the mother's side, of the loyal house of Fife. Young
as thou art, we ask of thee but the heart and sword which thou
hast so earnestly proffered, nor can we, son of Isabella of Fife,
doubt their honesty and truth ; thou shalt earn a loyal name
for thyself, and till then, as the brother in arms, the chosen
friend of Nigel Bruce, all shall respect and trust thee. We
confer knighthood on twenty of our youthful warriors seven
days hence ; prepare thyself to receive it with our brother :
enough for us to know thou hast learned the art of chivalry at
thy mother's hand."

Dazzled, bewildered by the benign manner, and yet more
gracious words of his sovereign, the young heir of Buchan re-
mained kneeling for a brief space, as if rooted to the ground,
but the deep earnest voice of his mother, the kind greeting of
Nigel Bruce, as he grasped his arm, and hailed him companion
in arms, roused him at once, and he sprung to his feet ; the
despondency, shame, doubt, anxiety which like lead had weighed
down his heart before, dissolved before the glad, buoyant spirit,
the bright, free, glorious hopes, and dreams, and visions which
are known to youth alone.

Stentorian and simultaneous was the eager shout that hailed
the appearance of the newly-anointed king, as he paused a mo-
ment on the great stone staircase, leading from the principal
doors of the abbey to the abbey yard. For miles round, par-
ticularly from those counties which were but thinly garrisoned
by the English, the loyal Scots had poured at the first rumor
of the Bruce's rising, and now a rejoicing multitude welcomed
him with one voice, the execrations against their foes forgotten
in this outpouring of the heart towards their native prince.

Inspired by this heartfelt greeting, the king advanced a few
paces on the stone terrace, and raised his right hand, as if about
to speak ; on the instant every shout was hushed, and silence
fell upon that eager multitude, as deep and voiceless as if some
mighty magic chained them spell- bound where they stood, their
very breathing hushed, fearful to lose one word.

Many an aged eye grew dim with tears, as it rested on the

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 61

fair and graceful form, the beautifully expressive face of him,
who, with eloquent fervor, referred to the ancient glory of their
country ; tears of joy, for they felt they looked upon the good
genius of their land, that she was raised from her dejected
stupor, to sleep a slave no more ; and the middle-aged and the
young, with deafening shouts and eager gestures, swore to give
him the crown, the kingdom he demanded, free, unshackled as
his ancestors had borne them, or die around him to a man ; and
blessings and prayers in woman's gentler voice mingled with
the swelling cry, and little children caught the Bruce's name,
and bade " God bless him," and others, equally impetuous,
shouted " Bruce and freedom !"

" Love, obey, follow me, for Scotland's sake ; noble or gentle,
let all private feud be forgotten in this one great struggle for
liberty or death. Jhus," he concluded, " united and faithful,
the name of Wallace on each lip, the weal of Scotland in each
heart, her mountains our shield, her freedom our sword, shall
we, can we fail ? No ! no ! Scotland shall be free, or her green
sod and mountain flowers shall bloom upon our graves. I have
no crown save that which Scotland gives, no kingdom save
what your swords shall conquer, and your hearts bestow ; with
you I live and die."

In the midst of the shouts and unrestrained clamor succeed-
ing this eloquent address, the fiery chargers of the king and
his attendant barons and esquires were led to the foot of the
staircase. And a fair and noble sight was the royal cortege as
slowly it passed through the old town, with banners flying,
lances gleaming, and the rich swell of triumphant music echo-
ing on the air. Nobles and dames mingled indiscriminately to-
gether. Beautiful palfreys or well-trained glossy mules, richly
caparisoned, gracefully guided by the dames and maidens, bore
their part well amid the more fiery chargers of their compan-
ions. The queen rode at King Robert's left hand, the primate
of Scotland at his right, Lennox, Seaton, and Hay thronged
around the Countess of Buchan, eager to pay her that courteous
homage which she now no longer refused, and willingly joined
in their animated converse. The Lady Maiy Campbell and her
sister Lady Seaton found an equally gallant and willing escort,
as did the other noble dames ; but none ventured to dispute
the possession of the maiden of Buchan with the gallant Nigel,
who, riding close at her bridle rein, ever and anon whispered

62 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

some magic words that called a blush to her cheek and a smile
on her lip, their attention called off now and then by some wild
jest or courteous word from the young Lord Douglas, whose
post seemed in every part of the royal train ; now galloping to
the front, to caracole by the side of the queen, to accustom her,
he said, to the sight of good horsemanship, then lingering be-
side the Countess of Buchan, to give some unexpected rejoinder
to the graver maxims of Lennox. The Princess Margery, her
cousins, the Lady Isoline Campbell and Alice and Christina
Seaton, escorted by Alan of Buchan, Walter Fitz-Alan, Alex-
ander Fraser, and many other young esquires, rejoicing in the
task assigned them.

It was a gay and gorgeous sight, and beautiful the ringing
laugh and silvery voice of youth. No dream of desponding
dread shadowed their hearts, though dangejj and suffering, and
defeat and death, were darkly gathering round them. Who,
as he treads the elastic earth, fresh with the breeze of day, as
he gazes on the cloudless blue of the circling sky, or the daz-
zling rays of the morning sun, as the hum of happy life is round
him — who is there thinks of the silence, and darkness, and tem-
pest that come in a few brief hours, on the shadowy pinions
of night ?

CHAPTER VI.

SOME ten or twelve days after the momentous event recorded
in our last chapter, King Edward's royal palace, at Winchester,
was thronged at an unusually early hour by many noble knights
and barons, bearing on their countenances symptoms of some
new and unexpected excitement ; and there was a dark boding
gloom on the now contracted brow and altered features of Eng-
land's king, as, weakened and well-nigh worn out by a linger-
ing disease, he reclined on a well-cushioned couch, to receive
the eagerly-offered homage of his loyal barons. He, who had
been from earliest youth a warrior, with whose might and
dauntless prowess there was not one, or prince, or noble,
or English, or foreigner, , could compete, whose strength of
frame and energy of mind had ever borne him scathless and

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 63

uninjured through scenes of fatigue, and danger, and blood, and
death ; whose sword had restored a kingdom to his father —
had struggled for Palestine and her holy pilgrims — had given
Wales to England, and again and again prostrated the hopes
and energies of Scotland into the dust ; even he, this mighty
prince, lay prostrate now, unable to conquer or to struggle with
disease — disease that attacked the slave, the lowest serf or yeo-
man of his land, and thus made manifest, how in the sight of
that King of kings, from whom both might and weakness come,
the prince and peasant are alike — the monarch and the slave !

The disease had been indeed in part subdued, but Edward
could not close his eyes to the fact that he should never again
be what he had been ; that the strength which had enabled
him to do and endure so much, the energy which had ever led
him on to victory, the fire which had so often inspired his own
heart, and urged on, as by magic power, his followers — that all
these were gone from him, and forever. Ambition, indeed,
yet burned within, strong, undying, mighty ; aye, perhaps
mightier than ever, as the power of satisfying that ambition
glided from his grasp. He had rested, indeed, a brief while,
secure in the fulfilment of his darling wish, that every rood of
land composing the British Isles should be united under him as
sole sovereign ; he believed, and rejoiced in the belief, that with
Wallace all hope or desire of resistance had departed. His
disease had been at its height when Bruce departed from his
court, and disabled him a while from composedly considering
how that event would affect his interest in Scotland. As the
violence of the disease subsided, however, he had leisure to
contemplate and become anxious. Rumors, some extravagant,
some probable, now floated about ; and the sovereign looked
anxiously to the high festival of Easter to bring all his barons
around him, and by the absence or presence of the suspected,
discover at once how far his suspicions and the floating rumors
were correct.

Although the indisposition of the sovereign prevented the
feasting, merry-making, and other customary marks of royal
munificence, which ever attended the solemnization of Easter,
yet it did not in any way interfere with the bounden duty of
every earl and baron, knight and liegeman, and high ecclesias-
tics of the realm to present themselves before the monarch at
such a time ; Easter, Whitsuntide, and Christmas, being the

64: THE DATS OF BRUCE.

seasons when every loyal subject of fit degree appeared attend-
ant on his sovereign, without any summons so to do.

They had been seasons of peculiar interest since the dismem-
berment of Scotland, for Edward's power was such, that seldom
had the peers and other great officers of that land refused the
tacit acknowledgment of England's supremacy by their non-
appearance. Even in that which was deemed the rebellion of
Wallace, the highest families, even the competitors for the
crown, and all the knights and vassals in their interest, had
swelled the train of the conqueror; but this Easter ten or
twelve great barons and their followers were missing. The
nobles had eagerly and anxiously scanned the countenances of
each, and whispered suspicions and rumors, which one glance
on their monarch's ruffled brow confirmed.

" So ho ! my faithful lords and gallant knights," he exclaim-
ed, after the preliminaries of courtesy between each noble and
his sovereign had been more hastily than usual performed,
speaking in a tone so unusually harsh and sarcastic, that the
terms "faithful and gallant" seemed used but in mockery;
" so ho ! these are strange news we hear. Where be my lords
of Carrick, Athol, Lennox, Hay ? Where be the knights of
Seaton, Somerville, Keith, and very many others we could
name ? Where be these proud lords, I say ? Are none of ye
well informed on these things? I ask ye where be they?
Why are they not here ?"

There was a pause, for none dared risk reply. Edward's
voice had waxed louder and louder, his sallow cheek flushed
with wrath, and he raised himself from his couch, as if irrita-
bility of thought had imparted strength to his frame.

" I ask ye, where be these truant lords ? There be some of
ye who can reply ; aye, and by good St. Edward, reply ye shall.
Gloucester, my lord of Gloucester, stand forth, I say," he con-
tinued, the thunderstorm drawing to that climax which made
many tremble, lest its bolt should fall on the daring baron who
rumor said was implicated in the flight of the Bruce, and who
now stood, his perfect self-possession and calmness of mien and
feature contrasting well with the fury of his sovereign.

" And darest thou front me with that bold, shameless brow,
false traitor as thou art ?" continued the king, as, with head
erect and arms proudly folded in his mantle, Gloucester obeyed
the king's impatient summons. " Traitor ! I call thee traitor !

THE DAYS OF BJJUCE. 65

aye, in the presence of thy country's noblest peers, I charge
thee with a traitor's deed ; deny it, if thou darest."

" 'Tis my sovereign speaks the word, else had it not been
spoken with impunity," returned the noble, proudly and com-
posedly, though his cheek burned and his eye flashed. " Yes,
monarch of England, I dare deny the charge ! Gloucester is
no traitor !"

" How ! dost thou brave me, minion ? Darest thou deny
the fact, that from thee, from thy traitorous hand, thy base
connivance, Robert of Carrick, warned that we knew his treach-
ery, fled from our power — that 'tis to thee, we owe the pleas-
ant news we have but now received ? Hast thou not given that
rebel Scotland a head, a chief, in this fell traitor, and art thou
not part and parcel of his guilt ? Darest thou deny that from
thee he received intelligence and means of flight ? Baron of
Gloucester, thou darest not add the stigma of falsity to thy al-
ready dishonored name !"

" Sovereign of England, my gracious liege and honored king,"
answered Gloucester, still apparently unmoved, and utterly re-
gardless of the danger in which he stood, " dishonor is not fur-
ther removed from thy royal name than it is from Gloucester's.
I bear no stain of either falsity or treachery ; that which thou
hast laid to my charge regarding the Earl of Carrick, I shrink
not, care not to acknowledge ; yet, Edward of England, I am
no traitor !"

" Ha ! thou specious orator, reconcile the two an thou canst !
Thou art a scholar of deep research and eloquence profound we
have heard. Speak on, then, in heaven's name !" He flung
himself back on his cushions as he spoke, for, despite his wrath,
his suspicions, there was that in the calm, chivalric bearing of
the earl that appealed not in vain to one who had so long been
the soul of chivalry himself.

The tone in which his sovereign spoke was softened, though
his words were bitter, and Gloucester at once relaxed from his
proud and cold reserve ; kneeling before him, he spoke with
fervor and impassioned truth —

" Condemn me not unheard, my gracious sovereign," he
said. " I speak not to a harsh and despotic king, who brings
his faithful subjects to the block at the first whisper of evil or
misguided conduct cast to their charge ; were Edward such,
Gloucester would speak not, hope not for justice at his hands ;

66 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

but to thee, my liege, to thee, to whom all true knights may
look up as to the mirror of all that knight should be — the life
and soul of chivalry — to thee, the noblest warrior, the truest
knight that ever put lance in rest — to thee, I say, I am no
traitor ; and appeal but to the spirit of chivalry actuating thine
own heart to acquit or condemn me, as it listeth. Hear me,
my liege. Robert of Carrick and myself were sworn brothers
from the first hour of our entrance together upon life, as pages,
esquires, and finally, as knights, made such by thine own royal
hand ; brothers in arms, in dangers, in victories, in defeat ; aye,
and brothers — more than brothers — in mutual fidelity and love ;
to receive life, to be rescued from captivity at each other's hand,
to become equal sharers of whatever honors might be granted
to the one and not the other. Need my sovereign be reminded
that such constitutes the ties of brothers in arms, and such
brothers were Robert of Carrick and Gilbert of Gloucester.
There came a rumor that the instigations of a base traitor had
poisoned your grace's ear against one of these sworn brothers,
threatening his liberty, if not his life ; that which was revealed,
its exact truth or falsehood, might Gloucester pause to list or
weigh ? My liege, thou knowest it could not be. A piece of
money and a pair of spurs was all the hint, the warning, that
he dared to give, and it was given, and its warning taken ; and
the imperative duty the laws of chivalry, of honor, friendship,
all alike demanded done. The brother by the brother saved !
Was Gloucester, then, a traitor to his sovereign, good my
liege ?"

" Say first, my lord, how Gloucester now will reconcile these
widely adverse duties, how comport himself, if duty to his liege
and sovereign call on him to lift his sword against his broth-
er ?" demanded Edward, raising himself on his elbow, and
looking on the kneeling nobleman with eyes which seemed to
have recovered their flashing light to penetrate his soul. Wrath
itself appeared to have subsided before this calm yet eloquent
appeal, which in that age could scarcely have been resisted
without affecting the honor of the knight to whom it was ad-
dressed.

An expression of suffering, amounting almost to anguish, took
the place of energy and fervor on the noble countenance of
Gloucester, and his voice, which had never once quivered or
failed him in the height of Edward's wrath, now absolutely

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 67

shook with the effort to master his emotion. Twice he essayed
to speak ere words came ; at length —

" With Robert of Carrick Gilbert of Gloucester was allied
as brother, my liege," he said. " With Robert the rebel, Rob-
ert the would-be king, the daring opposer of my sovereign,
Gloucester can have naught in common. My liege, as a knight
and gentleman, I have done my duty fearlessly, openly ; as
fearlessly, as openly, as your grace's loyal liegeman, fief, and
subject, in the camp and in the court, in victory or defeat,
against all manner or ranks of men, be they friends or foes ; to
my secret heart I am thine, and thine alone. In proof of which
submission, my royal liege, lest still in your grace's judgment
Gloucester be not cleared from treachery, behold I resign alike
my sword and coronet to your royal hands, never again to be
resumed, save at my sovereign's bidding."

His voice became again firm ere he concluded, and with the
same respectful deference yet manly pride which had marked
his bearing throughout, he laid his sheathed sword and golden
coronet at his sovereign's feet, and then rising steadily and un-
flinchingly, returned Edward's searching glance, and calmly
awaited his decision.

" By St. Edward ! Baron of Gloucester," he exclaimed, in
his own tone of kingly courtesy, mingled with a species of ad-
miration he cared not to conceal, " thou hast fairly challenged
us to run a tilt with thee, not of sword and lance, but of all
knightly and generous courtesy. I were no true knight to con-
demn, nor king to mistrust thee ; yet, of a truth, the fruit of
thy rash act might chafe a cooler mood than ours. Knowest
thou Sir John Comyn is murdered — murdered by the arch
traitor thou hast saved from our wrath ?"

" I heard it, good my liege," calmly returned Gloucester.
" Robert of Carrick was no temper to pass by injuries, aggra-
vated, traitorous injuries, unavenged."

" And this is all thou sayest !" exclaimed Edward, his Wrath
once again gaining dominion. " Wouldst thou defend this base
deed on plea, forsooth, that Comyn was a traitor ? Traitor —
and to whom ?"

" To the man that trusted him, my liege ; to him he falsely
swore to second and to aid. To every law of knighthood and
of honor I say he was a traitor, and deserved his fate."

" And this to thy sovereign, madman ? To us, whose dig-

68 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

nity and person have been insulted, lowered, trampled on ?
By all the saints, thou hast tempted us too far ! What ho,
there, guards ! Am I indeed so old and witless," he muttered,
sinking back again upon the couch from which he had started
in the moment of excitement, " as so soon to forget a knightly
nobleness, which in former days would have knitted my very
soul to his ? Bah ! 'tis this fell disease that spoke, not Ed-
ward. Away with ye, sir guards, we want ye not," he added,
imperatively, as they approached at his summons. " And thou,
sir earl, take up thy sword, and hence from my sight a while ;
— answer not, but obey. I fear more for mine own honor than
thou dost for thy head. We neither disarm nor restrain thee,
for we trust thee still ; but away with thee, for on our kingly
faith, thou hast tried us sorely."

Gloucester flung himself on his knee beside his sovereign, his
lips upon the royal hand, which, though scarcely yielded to him,
was not withheld, and hastily resuming his sword and coronet,
with a deep reverence, silently withdrew.

The king looked after him, admiration and fierce anger strug-
gling for dominion alike on his countenance as in his heart, and
then sternly and piercingly he scanned the noble crowd, who,
hushed into a silence of terror as well as of extreme interest
during the scene they had beheld, now seemed absolutely to
shrink from the dark, flashing orbs of the king, as they rested
on each successively, as if the accusation of lip would follow
that of eye, and the charge of treason fall indiscriminately on
all ; but, exhausted from the passion to which he had given
vent, Edward once more stretched himself on his cushions, and
merely muttered —

" Deserved his fate — a traitor. Is Gloucester mad — or worse,
disloyal ? No ; that open brow and fearless eye are truth and
faithfulness alone. I will not doubt him ; 'tis but his lingering
love for that foul traitor, Bruce, which I were no true knight
to hold in blame. But that murder, that base murder — insult
alike to our authority, our realm — by every saint in heaven, it
shall be fearfully avenged, and that madnjan rue the day he
dared fling down the gauntlet of rebellion !" and as he spoke,
his right hand instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword, and
half drew it from its sheath.

" Madman, in very truth, my liege," said Aymer de Valence,
Earl of Pembroke, who, high in favor with his sovereign, alone

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 69

ventured to address him ; " as your grace will believe, when I
say not only hath he dared defy thee by the murder of Comyn,
but has had the presumptuous folly to enact the farce of coro-
nation, taking upon himself all the insignia of a king."

i' How ! what sayst thou, De Valence," returned Edward,
again starting up, " coronation — king ? By St. Edward ! this
passeth all credence. Whence hadst thou this witless news ?"

" From sure authority, my liege, marvellous as they seem.
These papers, if it please your grace to peruse, contain matters
of import which demand most serious attention."

"Anon, anofl, sir earl!" answered Edward, impatiently, as
Pembroke, kneeling, laid the papers on a small table of ivory
which stood at the monarch's side. " Tell me more of this
strange farce ; a king, ha ! ha ! Does the rebel think 'tis but
to put a crown upon his head and a sceptre in his hand that
makes the monarch — a king, forsooth. And who officiated
at this right solemn mockery ? 'Twas, doubtless, a goodly
sight !"

" On my knightly faith, my liege, strangely, yet truly, 'twas
a ceremony regally performed, and, save for numbers, regally
attended."

" Thou darest not tell me so !" exclaimed the king, striking
his clenched hand fiercely on the table. " I tell thee thou
darest not ; 'tis a false tale, a lie thrust upon thee to rouse thy
spirit but to laugh at. De Valence, I tell thee 'tis a thing that
cannot be ! Scotland is laid too low, her energies are crushed ;
her best and bravest lying in no bloodless graves. Who is there
to attend this puppet king, save the few we miss ? who dared
provoke our wrath by the countenance of such a deed ? Who
would dare tempt our fury by placing a crown on the rebel's
head '? I tell thee they have played thee false — it cannot be !"

" Thy valor hath done much, my gracious liege," returned
Pembroke, " far more than ever king hath done before ; but
pardon me, your grace, the people of Scotland are not yet
crushed, they lie apparently in peace, till a chief capable of
guiding, lordly in rank and knightly in war, ariseth, and then
they too stand forth. Yet what are they ? they do but nomi-
nally swell the rebel's court ; they do but seem a multitude,
which needs but thy presence to disperse. He cannot, if he
dare, resist thee."

" And wherefore should these tidings so disturb your

70 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

grace ?" interposed the Earl of Hereford, a brave, blunt sol-
dier, like his own charger, snuffing the scent of war far off.
" We have but to bridle on our harness, and we shall hear no
more of solemn farces like to this. Give but the word, my
sovereign, and these ignoble rebels shall be cut off to a man,
by an army as numerous and well appointed as any that have
yet followed your grace to victory ; 'tis a pity they have but to
encounter traitors and rebels, instead of knightly foes," con-
tinued the High Constable of England.

" Perchance Robert of Carrick deems the assumption of king
will provoke your grace to combat even more than his traitor-
ous rebellion, imagining, in his madness, the title of king may
make ye equals," laughingly observed the Earl of Arundel ;
and remarks and opinions of similar import passed round, but
Edward, who had snatched the papers as he ceased to speak,
and was now deeply engrossed in their contents, neither replied
to nor heeded them. Darker and darker grew the frown upon
his brow ; his tightly compressed lip, his heaving chest betray-
ing the fearful passion that agitated him ; but when he spoke,
there was evidently a struggle for that dignified calmness which
in general distinguished him, though ever and anon burst forth
the undisguised voice of wrath.

" Tis well, 'tis very well," he said. " These wild Scots
would tempt us to the utmost, and they shall be satisfied.
Ah ! my lords of Buchan and Fife, give ye good morrow.
What think ye of these doings amidst your countrymen, be-
think ye they have done well ?"

" Well, as relates to their own ruin, aye, very well, my liege ;
they act but as would every follower of the murderer Bruce,"
replied Buchan, harshly and sullenly.

" They are mad, stark mad, your highness ; the loss of a
little blood may bring them to their senses," rejoined the more
volatile Fife.

" And is it thus ye think, base, villainous traitors as ye are,
leagued with the rebel band in his coronation ? My Lord of
Chester, attach them of high treason."

"What means your grace?" exclaimed both noblemen at
once, but in very different accents. " Of what are we charged,
and who dare make this lying accusation ?"

"Are ye indeed so ignorant?" replied the king, jibingly.
" Know ye not that Isabella, Countess of Buchan, and repre-

THE DAYS OF BBTJCE. 71

sentative, in the absence of her brother, of the earldom of Fife,
hath so dared our displeasure as to place the crown on the
rebel's head, and vow him homage ?"

" Hath she indeed dared so to do ? By heaven, she shall
rue this !" burst wrathfully from Buchan, his swarthy counte-
nance assuming a yet swarthier aspect. " My liege, I swear
to thee, by the Holy Cross, I knew no more of this than did
your grace. Thinkest thou I would aid and abet the cause of
one not merely a rebel and a traitor, but the foul murderer of
a Comyn — one at whose hands, by the sword's point, have I
sworn to demand my kinsman, and avenge him ?"

" And wherefore did Isabella of Buchan take upon herself
this deed, my liege, but because the only male descendant of her
house refused to give his countenance or aid to this false earl ?
Because Duncan of Fife was neither a rebel himself nor gave
his aid to rebels. On the honor of a knight, my liege, I know
naught of this foul deed."

" It may be, it may be," answered Edward, impatiently.
" We will see to it, and condemn ye not unheard ; but in times
like these, when traitors and rebels walk abroad and insult us
to our very teeth, by St. Edward, our honor, our safety de-
mands the committal of the suspected till they be cleared.
Resign your swords to my Lord of Chester, and confine your-
selves to your apartments. If ye be innocent, we will find
means to repay you for the injustice we have done ; if not, the
axe and the block shall make short work. Begone !"

Black as a thunderbolt was the scowl that lowered over the
brow of Buchan, as he sullenly unclasped his sword and gave
it into the Lord Constable's hand ; while with an action of
careless recklessness the Earl of Fife followed his example, and
they retired together, the one scowling defiance on all who
crossed his path, the other jesting and laughing with each
and all.

" I would not give my best falcon as pledge for the Countess
of Buchan's well-doing, an she hath done this without her lord's
connivance," whispered the Prince of Wales to one of his fa-
vorites, with many of whom he had been conversing, in a low
voice, as if his father's wrathful accents were not particularly
grateful to his ear.

" Nor would I pledge a hawk for her safety, if she fall into
his grace's hands, whether with her lord's consent or no," re-

72 THE DAYS OF BRUCE,

plied the young nobleman, laughing. " Your royal father is
fearfully incensed."

" Better destroy them root and branch at once," said the
prince, who, like all weak minds, loved any extremity better
than a protracted struggle. " Exterminate with fire and sword ;
ravage the land till there be neither food for man nor beast ; let
neither noble nor serf remain, and then, perchance, we shall
hear no more of Scotland. On my faith, I am sick of the
word."

" Not so the king, my royal lord," returned his companion.
" See how eagerly he talks to my lords of Pembroke and
Hereford. We shall have our sovereign yet again at our
head."

And it was even as he said. The king, with that strong
self-command which disease alone could in any way cause to
fail, now conquering alike his bitter disappointment and the
fury it engendered, turned his whole thought and energy to-
wards obtaining the downfall of his insolent opponents at one
stroke ; and for that purpose, summoning around him the
brave companions of former campaigns, and other officers of
state, he retired with them to his private closet to deliberate
more at length on the extraordinary news they had received,
and the best means of nipping the rebellion in the bud.

CHAPTER VII.

THE evening of this eventful day found the Scottish earls
seated together in a small apartment of one of the buildings
adjoining the royal palace, which in the' solemn seasons we
have enumerated was always crowded with guests, who were
there feasted and maintained at the king's expense during the
whole of their stay. Inconveniences in their private quarters
were little heeded by the nobles, who seldom found themselves
there, save for the purpose of a few hours sleep, and served
but to enhance by contrast the lavish richness and luxury which
surrounded them in the palace and presence of their king ; but
to the Earls of Buchan and Fife the inconveniences of their
quarters very materially increased the irritability and annoy-

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 73

ance of their present situation. Fife had stretched himself on
two chairs, and leaning his elbows on the broad shelf formed
by the small casement, cast many wistful glances on the street
below, through which richly-attired gallants, both on foot and
horseback, were continually passing. He was one of those
frivolous little minds with whom the present is all in all, caring
little for the past, and still less for the future. It was no mar-
vel, therefore, that he preferred the utter abandonment of his
distracted country for the luxury and ease attending the court
and camp of Edward, to the great dangers and little recom-
pense attending the toils and struggles of a patriot. The only
emotion of any weight with him was the remembrance of and
desire of avenging petty injuries, fancying and . aggravating
them when, in fact, none was intended.

Very different was the character of the Earl of Buchan ;
morose, fierce, his natural hardness of disposition unsoftened
by one whisper of chivalry, although educated in the best school
of knighthood, and continually the follower of King Edward,
he adhered to him first, simply because his estates in England
were far more to his taste than those in Scotland, towards which
he felt no filial tie ; and soon after his marriage, repugnance to
his high-minded and richly-gifted countess, which ever seemed
a reproach and slur upon himself, kept him still more aloof,
satisfied that the close retirement in which she lived, the desert
and rugged situation of his castle, would effectually debar her
from using that influence he knew she possessed, and keep her
wholly and solely his own ; a strange kind of feeling, when, in
reality, the wide contrast between them made her an object of
dislike, only to be accounted for by the fact that a dark, suspi-
cious, jealous temper was ever at work within him.

" Now, do but look at that fellow's doublet, Comyn. Look,
how gay they pass below, and here am I, with my new, richly-
broidered suit, with which I thought to brave it with the best
of them — here am I, I say, pent up in stone walls like a caged
goldfinch, 'stead of the entertainment I had pictured ; 'tis enough
to chafe the spirit of a saint."

" And canst thou think of such things now, thou sorry fool ?"
demanded Buchan, sternly, pausing in his hurried stride up and
down the narrow precincts of the chamber ; " hast thou no
worthier subject for contemplation ?"

" None, save thy dutiful wife's most dutiful conduct, Comyn,
4

fj4: THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

which, being the less agreeable of the two, I dismiss the first.
I owe' her small thanks for playing the representative of my
house; methinks, her imprisonment would better serve King
Edward's cause and ours too."

" Aye, imprisonment — imprisonment for life," muttered the
earl, slowly. "Let but King Edward restore me my good
sword, and he may wreak his vengeance on her as he listeth. Not
all the castles of Scotland, the arms of Scottish men, dare guard
a wife against her husband ; bitterly shall she rue this deed."

" And thy son, my gentle kinsman, what wilt thou do with
him, bethink thee ? Thou wilt find him as great a rebel as his
mother ; I have ever told thee thou wert a fool to leave him so
long with his brainstruck mother."

" She hath not, she dared not bring him with her to the
murderer of his kinsman — Duncan of Fife, I tell thee she dare
not ; but if she hath, why he is but a child, a mere boy, in-
capable of forming judgment one way or the other."

" Not so much a child as thou thinkest, my good lord ; some
sixteen years or so have made a stalwart warrior ere this. Be
warned ; send off a trusty messenger to the Tower of Buchan,
and, without any time for warning, bring that boy as the host-
age of thy good faith and loyalty to Edward ; thou wilt thus
cure him of his patriotic fancies, and render thine interest
secure, and as thou desirest to reward thy duitful partner, thou
wilt do it effectually ; for, trust me, that boy is the very apple
of her eye, in her affections her very doting-place."

" Jest not, Duncan, or by all the saints, thou wilt drive me
mad !" wrathfully exclaimed Buchan. " It shall be as thou
sayest ; and more, I will gain the royal warrant for the deed —
permission to this effect may shorten this cursed confinement
for us both. I have forgotten the boy's age ; his mother's
high-sounding patriotism may have tinctured him already.
Thou smilest."

" At thy marvellous good faith in thy wife's patriotism, good
kinsman — oh, well perchance, like charity, it covereth a multi-
tude of sins."

" What meanest thou, my Lord of Fife ?" demanded Buchan,
shortly and abruptly, pausing in his walk to face his companion,
his suspicious temper instantly aroused by Fife's peculiar tone.
" What wouldst thou insinuate ? Tamper not with me ; thou
knowest I am no subject for a jest."

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 75

" I have but to look on thee to know that, my most solemn-
visaged brother. I neither insinuate nor tamper with your
lordship. Simply and heartily I do but give thee joy for thy
faith in female patriotism," answered Fife, carelessly, but with
an expression of countenance that did not accord with his tone.

" What, in the fiend's name, then, has urged her to this
mad act, if it be not what she and others as mad as she call
patriotism ?"

" May not a lurking affection for the Bruce have given in-
centive to love of country ? Buchan, of a truth, thou art dull
as a sword-blade when plunged in muddy water."

'•' Affection for the Bruce ? Thou art mad as she is, Duncan.
What the foul fiend, knows she of the Bruce ? No, no ! 'tis
too wild a tale — when have they ever met ?"

" More often than thou listeth, gentle kinsman," returned
Fife, with just sufficient show of mystery to lash his companion
into fury. " I could tell thee of a time when Robert of Car-
rick was domesticated with my immaculate sister, hunting with
her, hawking with her, reading with her, making favorable im-
pressions on every heart in Fife Castle save mine own."

" And she loved him ! — she was loved," muttered Buphan ;
" and she vowed her troth to me, the foul-mouthed traitress !
She loved him, saidst thou ?"

" On my faith, I know not, Comyn. Rumors, I know, went
abroad that it would have been better for the Lady Isabella's
peace and honor if this gallant, fair-spoken knight had kept
aloof."

" And thou, her brother, carest not to speak these things, and
in that reckless tone ? By St. Swithin, ye are well matched,"
returned Buchan, with a short and bitter laugh of scorn.

" Faith, Comyn, I love mine own life and comfort too well
to stand up the champion of woman's honor ; besides, I vouch
not for.- the truth of floating rumors. I tell thee but what
comes across my brain ; for its worth thou art the best judge."

" I were a fool to mine own interest to doubt thee now,
little worth as are thy wordf in common," again muttered the
incensed earl, resuming his hasty strides. " Patriotism ! loyalty !
ha, ha! high-sounding words, forsooth. And have they not
met since then until now ?" he demanded, stopping suddenly
before his companion.

" Even so, fair kinsman. Whilst thou wert doing such loyal

76 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

duty to Edward, after the battle of Falkirk, forgetting thou
hadst a wife and castle to look after, Robert Earl of Carrick
found a comfortable domicile within thy stone walls, and in the
fair, sweet company of thine Isabella, my lord. No doubt, in
all honorable and seemly intercourse ; gallant devotion on the
one side, and dignified courtesy on the other — nothing more,
depend on't ; still it seems but natural that the memory of a
comely face and knightly form should prove incentives to loyalty
and patriotism."

" The foul fiend take thy jesting !" exclaimed Buchan. " Nat-
ural, forsooth ; aye, the same nature that bade me loathe the
presence, aye, the very name of that deceiving traitress. And
so that smooth-faced villain Carrick found welcome in the castle
of a Comyn the months we missed him from the court. Ha,
ha ! thou hast done me good service, Lord of Fife. I had not
enough of injuries before to demand at the hand of Robert
Bruce. And for Dame Isabella, may the fury of every fiend
follow me, if I place her not in the hands of Edward, alive or
dead ! his wrath will save me the trouble of seeking further
vengeance."

" N»y, thou art a very fool to be so chafed," coolly observed
Fife. "Thou hast taken no care of thy wife, and therefore
hast no right to demand strict account of her amusements in
thy absence ; and how do we know she is not as virtuous as
the rest of them ? I do but tell thee of these things to pass
away the time. Ha ! there goes the prince's Gascon favorite,
by mine honor. Gaveston sports it bravely ; look at his crim-
son mantle wadded with sables. He hath changed his garb
since morning. Faith, he is a lucky dog ! the prince's love
may be valued at some thousand marks a year — worth possess-
ing, by St. Michael !"

A muttered oath was all the reply which his companion
vouchsafed, nor did the thunder-cloud upon his brow disperse
that evening.

The careless recklessness of Fife had no power to lessen in
the earl's mind the weight of the shameful charge he had brought
against the countess. Buchan's dark, suspicious mind not alone
received it, but cherished it, revelled in it, as giving him that
which he had long desired, a good foundation for dislike and
jealousy, a well-founded pretence for every species of annoy-
ance and revenge. The Earl of Fife, who had, in fact, merely

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 77

spoken, as he had said, to while away the time, and for the
pleasure of seeing his brother-in-law enraged, thought as little
of his words after as he had before they were uttered. A
licentious follower of pleasure in every form himself, he im-
agined, as such thoughtless characters generally do, that every-
body must be like him. From his weak and volatile mind,
then, all remembrance of that evening's conversation faded as
soon as it was spoken ; but with the Earl of Buchan it re-
mained brooding on itself, and filling his dark spirit with yet
blacker fancies.

The confinement of the Scottish noblemen was not of long
duration. Edward, whose temper, save when his ambition v^
concerned, was generally just and equitable, discovering, after
an impartial examination, that they were in no ways connected
with the affairs in the north, and feeling also it was his interest
to conciliate the regard of all the Scottish nobles disaffected to
Bruce, very soon restored them alike to their personal liberty
and to his favor ; his courteous apology for unjust suspicion,
frankly acknowledging that the news from Scotland, combined
with his irritating disease, had rendered him blind and sus-
picious, at once disarmed Fife of wrath. Buchan, perhaps,
had not been so easily appeased had his mind been less darkly
engrossed. His petition, that his son might be sent for, to be
placed as a hostage in the hands of Edward, and thus saved
from the authority of his mother, whom he represented as an
artful, designing woman, possessed of dangerous influence, was
acceded to on the instant, and the king's full confidence restored.
It was easy to act upon Edward's mind, already incensed against
Isabella of Buchan for her daring defiance of his power ; and
Buchan did work, till he felt perfectly satisfied that the wife he
hated would be fully cared for without the very smallest trouble
or interference on his part, save the obtaining possession of her
person ; that the vengeance he had vowed would be fully per-
fected, without any reproach or stigma cast upon his name.

Meantime the exertions of the King of England for the sup-
pression of the rebels continued with unabated ardor. Orders
were issued and proclaimed in every part of England for the
gathering together one of the noblest and mightiest armies that
had ever yet followed him to war. To render it still more
splendidly impressive, and give fresh incentive to his subjects,
whose warlike spiiit he perhaps feared might be somewhat de-

78 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

pressed by this constant call upon them for the reduction of a
country ever rising in revolt, Edward caused proclamation to be
severally made in every important town or county, " that all
who were under the obligation to become knights, and possessed
the necessary means, should appear at Westminster on the
coming solemn season of Whitsuntide, where they should be
furnished with every requisite, save and except the trappings
for their horses, from the king's wardrobe, and be treated with
all solemn honor and distinction as best befitted their rank, and
the holy vows they took upon themselves."

A proclamation such as this, in the very heart of the chivalric
era, was all-sufficient to engage every Englishman heart and
soul in the service of his king ; and ere the few weeks interven-
ing between Easter and Whitsuntide were passed, Westminster
and its environs presented a scene of martial magnificence and
knightly splendor, which had never before been equalled.
Three hundred noble youths, sons of earls, barons, and knights,
speedily assembled at the place appointed, all attended accord-
ing to their rank and pretensions ; all hot and fiery spirits,
eager to prove by their prompt attendance their desire to accept
their sovereign's invitation. The splendor of their attire seemed
to demand little increase from the bounty of the king, but
nevertheless, fine linen garments, rich purple robes, and superb
mantles woven with gold, were bestowed on each youthful can-
didate, thus strengthening the links which bound him to his
chivalric sovereign, by the gratification of his vanity in addition
to the envied honors of knighthood. As our tale relates more
to Scottish than to English history, we may "not linger longer
on the affairs of South Britain than is absolutely necessary for
the clear comprehension of the situation of her far less nourish-
ing sister. Exciting therefore as was the scene enacted in West-
minster, descriptive as it was of the spirit of the age, we are
compelled to give it but a hasty glance, and pass on to events
of greater moment.

Glorious, indeed, to an eyewitness, must have been the cere-
mony of admitting these noble and valiant youths into the sol-
emn mysteries and chivalric honors of knighthood. On that
day the Prince of Wales was first dubbed a knight, and made
Duke of Aquitaine ; and so great was the pressure of the crowd,
in their eagerness to witness the ceremonial in the abbey, where
the prince hastened to confer his newly-received dignity on his

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 79

companions, that three knights were killed, and several fainted
from heat and exhaustion. Strong war-horses were compelled
to drive back and divide the pressing crowds, ere the ceremony
was allowed to proceed. A solemn banquet succeeded ; and
then it was that Edward, whose energy of mind appeared com-
pletely to have annihilated disease and weakness of frame, made
that extraordinary vow, which it has puzzled both historian and
antiquary satisfactorily to explain. The matter of the vow
merely betrayed the indomitable spirit of the man, but the
manner seemed strange even in that age. Two swans, decora-
ted with golden nets and gilded reeds, were placed in solemn
pomp before the king, and he, with imposing fervor, made a
solemn vow to the Almighty and the swans, that he would go
to Scotland, and, living or dead, avenge the murder of Comyn,
and the broken faith of the traitorous Scots. Then, with that
earnestness of voice and majesty of mien for which he was re-
markable, he adjured his subjects, one and all, by the solemn
fealty they had sworn to him, that if he should die on the
journey, they would carry his body into Scotland, and never
give it burial till the prince's dominion was established in that
country. Eagerly and willingly the nobles gave the required
pledge ; and so much earnestness of purpose, so much martial
spirit pervaded that gorgeous assembly, that once more did
hope prevail in the monarch's breast, once more did he believe
his ambitious yearnings would all be fulfilled, and Scotland,
rebellious, haughty Scotland, lie crushed and broken at his feet.
Once more his dark eye flashed, his proud lip curled with its
wonted smiles ; his warrior form, erect and firm as in former
days, now spurned the couch of disease, and rode his war-horse
with all the grace and ease of former years. A gallant army,
under the command of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke,
had already been dispatched towards Scotland, bearing with it
the messengers of the Earl of Buchan, armed both with their
lord's commands and Edward's warrant for the detention of the
young heir of Buchan, and to bring him with all honor to the head-
quarters of the king. The name of Isabella of Buchan was sub-
joined to that of the Bruce, and together with all those con-
cerned in his rising proclaimed as traitors and a price set upon
their heads. This done, the king had been enabled to wait with
greater tranquillity the assembling of his larger army, and after
the ceremonials of Westminster, orders were issued for every

80 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

earl and baron to proceed with their followers to Carlisle, which
was named the head-quarters of the array, there to join their
sovereign with his own immediate troops. The Scottish nobles
Edward's usual policy retained in honorable posts about his
person, not choosing to trust their fidelity beyond the reach of
his own eye.

Obedient to these commands, all England speedily appeared
in motion, the troops of every county moving as by one impulse
to Carlisle. Yet there were some of England's noblest barons
in whose breasts a species of admiration, even affection, was at
work towards the very man they were now marching to destroy,
and this was frequently the case in the ages of chivalry. Fickle
as the character of Robert Bruce had appeared to be, there was
that in it which had ever attracted, riveted the regard of many
of the noble spirits in King Edward's court. The rash daring
of his enterprise, the dangers which encircled him, were such
as dazzled and fascinated the imagination of those knights in
whom the true spirit of chivalry found rest. Pre-eminent
amongst these was the noble Earl of Gloucester. His duty to
his sovereign urged him to take the field ; his attachment for
the Bruce would have held him neuter, for the ties that bound
brothers in arms were of no common or wavering nature.
Brothers in blood had frequently found themselves opposed
horse to horse, and lance to lance, on the same field, and no
scruples of conscience, no pleadings of affection, had power to
avert the unnatural strife ; but not such was it with brothers
in arms — a link strong as adamant, pure as their own sword-
steel, bound their hearts as one ; and rather, much rather would
Gloucester have laid down his own life, than expose himself to
the fearful risk of staining his sword with the blood of his friend.
The deepest dejection took possession of his soul, which not all
the confidence of his sovereign, the gentle, affectionate pleadings
of his wife, could in any way assuage.

CHAPTER VIII.

IT was the month of June, and the beautiful county of Perth
smiled in all the richness and loveliness of early summer. Not

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 81

yet had the signal of war floated on the pure springy breeze,
not yet had the stains of blood desecrated the gladsome earth,
although the army of De Valence was now within very few
miles of Scone, which was still the head-quarters of the Scottish
king. Aware of the very great disparity of numbers between
his gallant followers and those of Pembroke, King Robert pre-
ferred entrenching himself in his present guarded situation, to
meeting De Valence in the open field, although more than once
tempted to do so, and finding extreme difficulty in so curbing
the dauntless spirit of his followers as to incline them more to-
wards the defensive than the attack. Already had the fierce
thunders of the Church been launched against him for the sin
of murder committed in consecrated ground. Excommunication
in all its horrors exposed him to death from any hand, that on
any pretence of private hate or public weal might choose to
strike ; but already had there arisen spirits bold enough to dis-
pute the awful mandates of the Pope, and the patriotic prelates
who had before acknowledged and done homage to their sover-
eign, now neither wavered in their allegiance nor in any way
sought to promulgate the sentence thundered against him. A
calm smile had passed over the Bruce's noble features as the
intelligence of the wrath of Rome *was communicated to him.

" The judge and the avenger is in heaven, holy father," he
said ; " to His hands I commit my cause, conscious of deserving,
as humbly awaiting, chastisement for that sin which none can
reprobate and abhor more strongly than myself ; if blood must
flow for blood, His will be done. I ask but to free my country,
to leave her in powerful yet righteous hands, and willingly I will
depart, confident of mercy for my soul."

Fearful, however, that this sentence might dispirit his subjects,
King Robert watched his opportunity of assembling and address-
ing them. In a brief, yet eloquent speech, he narrated the base,
cold-blooded system of treachery of Comyn ; how, when trav-
elling to Scotland, firmly trusting in, and depending on, the
good faith the traitor had so solemnly pledged, a brawl had
arisen between his (Bruce's) followers and some men in the garb
of Borderers, who were discovered to be emissaries of the Red
Comyn, and how papers had been found on them, in which all
that could expose the Bruce to the deadly wrath of Edward was
revealed, and his very death advised as the only effectual means
of quelling his efforts for the freedom of Scotland, and crushing

4*

82 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

the last hopes of her still remaining patriots. He told them
how, on the natural indignation excited by this black treachery
subsiding, he had met Sir John Comyn at Dumfries — how,
knowing the fierce irascibility of his natural temper, he had will-
ingly agreed that the interview Comyn demanded should take
place in the church of the Minorite Friars, trusting that the
sanctity of the place would be sufficient to restrain him.

" But who may answer for himself, my friends ?" he continued,
mournfully ; " it needs not to dilate on that dark and stormy
interview, suffice it that the traitor sought still to deceive, still
to win me by his specious sophistry to reveal my plans, again
to be betrayed, and that Avhen I taunted him with his base,
cowardly treachery, his black dishonor, words of wrath and
hate, and blind deluded passion arose between us, and the spirit
of evil at .work within me urged my rash sword to strike. Sub-
jects and ^friends, I plead no temptation as excuse, I make no
defence ; T deplore, I contemn the deed. If ye deem me wor-
thy of death, if ye believe the sentence of our holy father in
God, his holiness the Pope, be just, that it is wholly free from
the machinations of England, who, deeming force of arms not
sufficient, would hurl the wrath of heaven's vicegerent on my
devoted . head, go, leave me to the fate it brings ; your oath of
allegiance is dissolved. I have yet faithful followers, to make
one bold stand against the tyrant, and die for Scotland ; but if
ye absolve me, if ye will yet give me your hearts and swords,
oh, fear me not, my countrymen, we may yet be free !"

Cries, tears, and blessings followed this wisely-spoken appeal,
one universal shout reiterated their vows of allegiance ; those
who had felt terrified at the mandate of their spiritual father,
now traced it not to his impartial judgment, but to the schemes
of Edward, and instantly felt its weight and magnitude had
faded into air. The unwavering loyalty of the Primate of Scot-
land, the Bishop of Glasgow, and the Abbot of Scone strength-
ened them alike in their belief and allegiance, and a band of
young citizens were instantly provided with arms at the expense
of the town, and the king entreated by a deputation of the
principal magistrates to accept their services as a guard extra-
ordinary, lest his life should be yet more endangered from pri-
vate individuals, by the sentence under which he labored ; and
gratified by their devotedness, though his bold spirit spurned all
fear of secret assassination, their request was graciously accepted.

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 83

The ceremony of knighthood which the king had promised
to confer on several of his young followers had been deferred
until the present time, to admit of their preparing for their in-
auguration with all the solemn services of religion which the
rites enjoined.

The 15th day of June was the time appointed, and Nigel
Bruce and Alan of Buchan were to pass the night previous, in
solemn prayer and vigil, in the abbey church of Scone. That
the rules of chivalry should not be transgressed by his desire
to confer some honor on the son of the Countess of Buchan,
which would demonstrate the high esteem in which she was
held by her sovereign, Alan had served the king, first as page
and then as esquire, in the interval that had elapsed since his
coronation, and now he beheld with ardor the near completion
of the honor for which he pined. His spirit had been wrung
well-nigh to agony, when amidst the list of the prtBcribed as
traitors he beheld his mother's name ; not so much at the dan-
gers that would encircle her — for from those he might defend
her — but that his father was still a follower of the unmanly
tyrant, who would even war against a woman — his father should
still calmly assist and serve the man who set a price upon his
mother's head. Alas ! poor boy, he little knew that father's
heart.

It was evening, a still, oppressive evening, for though the
sun yet shone brightly as he sunk in the west, a succession
of black thunder-clouds, gradually rising higher and higher
athwart the intense blue of the firmament, seemed to threaten
that the wings of the tempest were already brooding on the dark
bosom of night. The very flowers appeared to droop beneath
the weight of the atmosphere ; the trees moved not, the birds
were silent, save when now and then a solitary note was heard,
and then hushed, as if the little warbler shrunk back in his leafy
nest, frightened at his own voice. Perchance it was the still-
ness of nature which had likewise affected the inmates of a re-
tired chamber in the palace, for though they sate side by side,
and their looks betrayed that the full communion of soul was
not denied, few words were spoken. The maiden of Buchan
bent over the frame which contained the blue satin scarf she
was embroidering with the device of Bruce, in gold and gems,
and it was Nigel Bruce who sate beside her, his deep, expres-
sive eyes fixed upon her in such fervid, such eloquent love, that

84: THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

seldom was it she ventured to raise her glance to his. A slight
shadow was on those sweet and gentle features, perceptible,
perchance, to the eye of love alone ; and it was this that, after
enjoying that silent communion of the spirit, so dear to those
who love, which bade Nigel fling his arm around that slender
form, and ask —

" What is it, sweet one ? why art thou sad ?"

" Do not ask me, Nigel, for indeed I know not," she answer-
ed, simply, looking up a moment in his face, in that sweet
touching confidence, which made him draw her closer to his
protecting heart ; " save that, perchance, the oppression of na-
ture has extended to me, and filled my soul with unfounded
fancies of evil. I ought to be very happy, Nigel, loved thus
by thee," she hid her eyes upon his bosom; "received as thy
promised bride, not alone by thy kind sisters, thy noble broth-
ers, but — Dimple-hearted maiden as I am — deemed worthy of
thee by good King Robert's self. Nigel, dearest Nigel, why,
in an hour of joy like this, should dreams of evil come ?"

" To whisper, my beloved, that not on earth may we look
for the perfection of joy, the fulness of bliss ; that while the
mortal shell is round us joy is chained to pain, and granted us
but to lift up the spirit to that heaven where pain is banished,
bliss made perfect; dearest, 'tis but for this!" answered the
young enthusiast, and the rich yet somewhat mournful tones of
his voice thrilled to his listener's heart.

" Thou speakest as if thou, too, hadst experienced forebodings
like to these, my Nigel," said Agnes, thoughtfully. " I deemed
them but the foolishness of my weaker mind."

" Deem them not foolishness, beloved. There are minds, in-
deed, that know them not, but they are of that rude, coarse
material which owns no thought, hath no hopes but those of
earth and earthly things, insensible to that profundity of joy
which makes us feel its chain : 'tis not to the lightly feeling
such forebodings come."

" But thou — hast thou felt them, Nigel, dearest ? hast thou
listened to, believed their voice?"

" I have felt, I feel when I gaze on thee, sweet one, a joy so
deep, so full, that I scarce dare trace it to an earthly cause,"
he said, slightly evading a direct answer. " I cannot look for-
ward and, as it were, extend that deep joy to the future ; but
the fetter" binding it to pain reminds me I am mortal, that,

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 85

not on earth may I demand and seek and hope to find its ful-
filment."

She looked up in his face, with an expression both of bewil-
derment and fear, and her hand unconsciously closed on his
arm, as thus to detain him to her side.

" Yes, my beloved," lie added, with more animation, " it is
not because I put not my trust in earth for unfading joy that
we shall find not its sweet flowers below ; that our paths on
earth may be darkened, because the fulness of bliss is alone to
be found in heaven. Mine own sweet Agnes, while darkness
and strife, and blood and death, are thus at work around us, is
it marvel we should sometimes dream of sorrow ? Yet, oh yet,
have we not both the same hope, the same God, the same home
in heaven ; and if our doom be to part on earth, shall we not,
oh, shall we not meet in bliss ? I say not such things will be,
my best beloved ; but better look thus upon the dim»shadow
sometimes resting on the rosy wings of joy, than ever dismiss
it as the vain folly of a weakened mind."

He pressed his lips, which quivered, on the fair, beautiful
brow then resting in irresistible sorrow on his bosom ; but he
did not attempt by words to check that maiden's sudden burst
of tears. After a while, when he found his own emotion suffi-
ciently restrained, soothingly and fondly he cheered her to
composure, and drew from her the thoughts which had dis-
turbed her when he first spoke.

" 'Twas of my mother, Nigel, of my beloved, my noble mother
that I thought ; proscribed, hunted, set a price upon as a traitor.
Can her children think on such indignity without emotion — and
when I remember the great power of King Edward, who has
done this — without fear for her fate ?"

" Sweetest, fear not for her ; her noble deed, her dauntless
heroism has circled her with such a' guard of gallant knights
and warriors, that, in the hands of Edward, trust me, dearest,
she shall never fall ; and even if such should be, still, I say,
fear not. Unpitying and cruel as Edward is, where his ambi-
tion is concerned, he is too true a knight, too noble in spirit to
take a woman's blood ; he is now fearfully enraged, and there-
fore has he done this. And as to indignity, 'tis shame to the
proscriber not to the proscribed, my love !"

" There is one I fear yet more than Edward," continued the
maiden, fearfully ; " one that I should love more. Oh, Nigel,

86 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

my very spirit shrinks from the image of my father. I have
sought to love him, to dismiss the dark haunting visions which
his name has ever brought before me. I saw him once, but
once, and his stern terrible features and harsh voice so terrified
my childish fancies, that I hid myself till he had departed, and
I have never seen him since, and yet, oh yet, I fear him !"

" What is it that thou fearest, love ?"

"I know not," she answered; "but if evil approach my
mother, it will come from him, and so silently, so unsuspectedly,
that none may avoid it. Nigel, he cannot love my mother ! he
is a foe to Bruce, a friend of the slaughtered Comyn, and will
he not demand a stern account of the deed that she hath done ?
will he not seek vengeance ? and oh, will he not, may he not in
wrath part thee and me, and thus thy bodings be fulfilled ?"

" Agnes, never ! The mandate of man shall never part us ;
the power of man, unless my limbs be chained, shall never
sever thee and me. He that hath never acted a father's part,
can have no power on his child. Thou art mine, my beloved !
— mine with thy mother's blessing ; and mine thou shalt be —
no earthly power shall part us. Death, death alone can break
the links that bind us, and must be of God, though man may
seem the cause. Be comforted, sweet love. Hark ! they are
chiming vespers ; I must be gone for the solemn vigil of to-
night, and to-morrow thou shalt arm thine own true knight,
mine Agnes, and deck me with that blue scarf, more precious
even than the jewelled sword my sovereign brother gives. Fare-
well, for a brief, brief while ; I go to watch and pray. Oh, let
thy orisons attend me, and surely then my vigil shall be blest."

" Pray thou for me, my Nigel," whispered the trembling girl,
as he clasped her in his arms, " that true as I may be, strength
befitting thy promised bride may be mine own. Nigel, my be-
loved, indeed I need such prayer."

He whispered hope and comfort, and departed by the stone
stairs which led from the gothic casement where they had been
sitting, into the garden; he lingered to gather some delicate
blue-bells which had just blown, and turned back to place them
in the lap of Agnes. She eagerly raised them and pressed
them to her lips, but either their fragile blossoms could not
bear even her soft touch, or the heavy air had inwardly withered
their bloom, for the blossoms fell from their stalks, and scattered
their beautiful petals at her feet.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 87

CHAPTER IX.

THE hour of vespers had come and passed ; the organ and
choir had hushed their solemn sounds. The abbot and his
attendant monks, the king who, with his train, had that evening
joined the solemn service, all had departed, and but two inmates
were left within the abbey church of Scone. Darkness and
silence had assumed their undisturbed dominion, for the waxen
tapers left burning on the altar lighted but a few yards round,
leaving the nave and cloisters in impenetrable gloom. Some
twenty or thirty yards east of the altar, elevated some paces
from the ground, in its light and graceful shrine, stood an ele-
gantly sculptured figure of the Virgin and Child. A silver
lamp, whose pure flame was fed with aromatic incense, burned
within the shrine and shed its soft light on a suit of glittering
armor which was hanging on the shaft of a pillar close beside
it. Directly behind the altar was a large oriel window of
stained glass, representing subjects from Scripture. The win-
dow, with its various mullions and lights, formed one high
pointed arch, marked by solid stone pillars on each side, the
capitals of which traced the commencement of the arch. An-
other window, similar in character, though somewhat smaller in
dimensions, lighted the west end of the church ; and near it
stood another shrine containing a figure of St. Stephen, lighted
as was that of the Virgin and Child, and, like that, gleaming on
a suit of armor, and on the figure of the youthful candidate for
knighthood, whose task was to pass that night in prayer and
vigil beside his armor, unarmed, saved by that panoply of
proof which is the Christian's portion — faith, lowliness, and
prayer.

No word passed between these pledged brothers in arms.
Their watch was in opposite ends of the church, and save the
dim, solemn light of the altar, darkness and immeasurable space
appeared to stretch between them. Faintly and fitfully the
moon had shone thi'ough one of the long, narrow windows of
the aisles, shedding its cold spectral light for a brief space,
then passing into darkness. Heavy masses of clouds sailed
slowly in the heavens, dimly discernible through the unpainted
panes ; the oppression of the atmosphere increasing as the night

88 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

approached her zenith, and ever and anon a low, long peal of
distant thunder, each succeeding one becoming longer and
louder than the last, and heralded by the blue flash of vivid
lightning, announced the fury of the coming tempest.

The imaginations even as the feelings of the young men were
already strongly excited, although their thoughts, perchance,
were less akin than might have been expected. The form of
his mother passed not from the mental vision of the young heir
of Buchan : the tone of her voice, the unwonted tear which had
fallen on his cheek when he had knelt before her that evening,
ere he had departed to his post, craving her blessing on his
vigil, her prayers for him — that tone, that tear, lingered on his
memory, hallowing every dream of glory, every warrior hope
that entered in his soul. Internally he vowed he would raise
the banner of his race, and prove the loyalty, the patriotism,
the glowing love of liberty which her counsels, her example Ijad
planted in his breast ; and if the recollection of his mother's
precarious situation as a proscribed traitor to Edward, and of
his father's desertion of his country and her patriot king in his
adherence to a tyrant — if these reflections came to damp the
bright, glowing views of others, they did but call the indignant
blood to his cheek, and add greater firmness to his impatient
step, for yet more powerfully did they awake his indignation
against Edward. Till now he had looked upon him exclusively
in the light of Scotland's foe — one against whom he with all
true Scottish men must raise their swords, or live forever
'neath the brand of slaves and cowards ; but now a personal
cause of anger added fuel to the fire already burning in his
breast. His mother was proscribed — a price set upon her
head ; and as if to fill the .measure of his cup of bitterness to
overflowing, his own father, he who should have been her pro-
tector, aided and abetted the cruel, pitiless Edward. Traitress !
Isabella of Buchan a traitress ! the noblest, purest, bravest
amid Scotland's children. She who to him had ever seemed
all that was pure and good, and noblest in woman ; and most
noble and patriot-hearted now, in the fulfilment of an office in-
herent in the House of Fife. Agitated beyond expression,
quicker and quicker he strode up and down the precincts
marked for his watch, the increasing tempest without seeming
to assimilate strangely with the storm within. Silence would
have irritated, would have chafed those restless smartings into

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 89

very agony, but the wild war of the elements, while they roused
his young spirit into yet stronger energy, removed its pain.

" It matters not," his train of thought continued, " while
this brain can think, this heart can feel, this arm retain its
strength, Isabella of -Buchan needs no other guardian but her
son. It is as if years had left their impress on my heart, as if
I had grown in very truth to man, thinking with man's wisdom,
fighting with man's strength. He that hath never given a
father's love, hath never done a father's duty, hath no claim
upon his child ; but she, whose untiring devotion, whose faith-
ful love hath watched over me, guarded, blessed from the first
hour of my life, instilled within me the principles of life on
earth and immortality in heaven — mother ! mother ! will not
thy gentle virtues cling around thy boy, and save him even
from a father's curse ? Can I do else than devote the life thou
gavest, to thee, and render back with my stronger arm, but not
less firm soul, the care, protection, love thou hast bestowed on
me ? Mother, Virgin saint," he continued aloud, flinging him-
self before the shrine to which we have alluded, " hear, oh hear
my prayer ! Intercede for me above, that strength, prudence,
wisdom may be granted me in the accomplishment of my
knightly vows ; that my mother, my own mother may be the
first and dearest object of my heart : life, fame, and honor I
dedicate to her. Spare me, bless me but for her ; if danger,
imprisonment be unavailingly her doom, let not my spirit waver,
nor my strength flag, nor courage no^r foresight fail, till she is
rescued to liberty and life."

Wrapt in the deep earnest might of prayer, the boy remained
kneeling, with clasped hands, and eyes fixed on the Virgin's
sculptured face, his spirit inwardly communing, long, long after
his impassioned vows had sunk in silence ; the thunder yet
rolled fearfully, and the blue lightning flashed and played
around him with scarce a minute's intermission, but no emotion
save that of a son and warrior took possession of his soul. He
knew a terrific storm was raging round him, but it drew him
not from earthly thoughts and earthly feelings, even while it
raised his soul in prayer. Very different was the effect of this
lonely vigil and awful night on the imaginative spirit of his com-
panion.

It was not alone the spirit of chivalry which now burned in
the noble heart of Nigel Bruce. He was a poet, and the glow-

90 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

ing hues of poesie invested every emotion of his mind. He
loved deeply, devotedly ; and love, pure, faithful, hopeful love,
appeared to have increased every feeling, whether of grief or
joy, in intensity and depth. He felt too deeply to be free from
that peculiar whispering within, known by the world as pre-
sentiment, and as such so often scorned and contemned as the
mere offspring of weak, superstitious minds, when it is in reality
one of those distinguishing marks of the higher, more ethereal
temperament of genius.

Perchance it is the lively imagination of such minds, which
in the very midst of joy can so vividly portray and realize pain,
or it may be, indeed, the mysterious voice which links gifted
man with a higher class of beings to whom futurity is revealed.
Be this as it may, even while the youthful patriot beheld
with a visioned eye the liberty of his country, and rejoiced
in thus beholding, there ever came a dim and silent shadowing,
a whispering voice, that he should indeed behold it, but not
from earth. When the devoted brother and loyal subject pic-
tured his sovereign in very truth a free and honored king, his
throne surrounded by nobles and knights of his own free land,
and many others, the enthusiast saw not himself amongst them,
and yet he rejoiced in the faith such things would be. When
the young and ardent lover sate by the side of his betrothed,
gazing on her sweet face, and drinking in deeply the gushing
tide of joy; when his spirit pictured yet dearer, lovelier, more
assured bliss, when Agnes would be in very truth his own, still
did that strange thrilling whisper come, and promise he should
indeed experience such bliss, but not on earth ; and yet he
loved, aye, and rejoiced, and there came not one shadow on his
bright, beautiful face, not one sad echo in the rich, deep tones
of his melodious voice to betray such dim forebodings had
found resting in his soul.

Already excited by his conversation with Agnes, the service
in which he found himself engaged was not such as to tran-
quillize his spirit, or still his full heart's quivering throb. His
imaginative soul had already flung its halo over the solemn rites
which attended his inauguration as a knight. Even to less en-
thusiastic spirits there was a glow, a glory in this ceremony
which seldom failed to awake the soul, and inspire it with high
and noble sentiments. It was not therefore strange that these
emotions should in the heart of Nigel Bruce obtain that ascen-

THE DAYS OF BKUOE. 91

dency, which to sensitive minds must become pain. Had it
been a night of calm and holy stillness, he would in all proba-
bility have felt its soothing effect ; but as it was, every pulse
throbbed and every nerve was strained 'neath his strong sense
of the sublime. He could not be said to think, although he
had struggled long and fiercely to compose his mind for those
de'votional exercises he deemed most fitted for the hour. Feel-
ing alone possessed him, overwhelming, indefinable ; he deemed
it admiration, awe, adoration of Him at whose nod the mighty
thunders rolled and the destructive lightnings flashed, but he
could not define it such. He did not dream of earth, not even
the form of Agnes flashed, as was its wont, before him ; no, it
was of scenes and sounds undreamed of in earth's philosophy
he thought ; and as he gazed on the impenetrable darkness,
and then beheld it dispersed by the repeated lightning, his ex-
cited fancy almost believed that he should see it peopled by
the spirits of the mighty dead which slept within those walls,
and no particle of terror attended this belief. In the weak su-
perstition of his age, Nigel Bruce had never shared, but firmly
and steadfastly he believed, even in his calm and unexcited mo-
ments, that there was a link between the living and the dead ;
that the freed spirits of the one were permitted to hold com-
mune with the other, not in visible shape, but in those thrilling
whispers which the spirit knows, while yet it would deny them
even to itself. It was the very age of superstition ; religion
itself was clothed in a veil of solemn mystery, which to minds
constituted as Nigel's gave it a deeper, more impressive tone.
Its ceremonies, its shrines, its fictions, all gave fresh zest to the
imagination, and filled the heart of its votary with a species of
devotion and excitement, which would now be considered as
mere visionary madness, little in accordance with the true spirit
of piety or acceptable to the Most High, but which was then
regarded as meritorious ; and even as we look back upon the
saints and heroes of the past, even now should not be con-
demned ; for, according to the light bestowed, so is devotion
demanded and accepted by the God of all.

Nigel Bruce had paused in his hasty walk, and leaning against
the pillar round which his armor hung, fixed his eyes for a
space on the large oriel window we have named, whose outline
was but faintly discernible, save on the left side, which was
dimly illumined by the silver lamp burning in the shrine of St.

92 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

Stephen, close beside which the youthful warrior stood. The
storm had suddenly sunk into an awful and almost portentous
silence ; and in that brief interval of stillness and gloom, Nigel
felt his blood flow more calmly in his veins, his pulses stilled
their starting throbs, and the young soldier crossed his arms
on his breast, and bent his uncovered head upon them in silent
yet earnest prayer.

The deep, solemn chime of the abbey -bell, echoing like a
spirit-voice through the arched and silent church, roused him,
and he looked up. At the same moment a strong and awfully
brilliant flash of lightning darted through the window on which
his eyes were fixed, followed by a mighty peal of thunder,
longer and louder than any that had come before. For above
a minute that blue flash lingered playing, it seemed, on steel,
and a cold shuddering thrill crept through the frame of Nigel
Bruce, sending the life-blood from his cheek back to his very
heart, for either fancy had again assumed her sway, and more
vividly than before, or his wild thoughts had found a shape
and semblance. Within the arch formed by the high window
stood or seemed to stand a tall and knightly form, clad from
the gorget to the heel in polished steel ; his head was bare,
and long, dark hair shaded a face pale and shadowy indeed,
but strikingly and eminently noble ; there was a scarf across
his breast, and on it. Nigel recognized the cognizance of his own
line, the crest and motto of the Bruce. It could not have
been more than a minute that the blue lightning lingered there,
yet to his excited spirit it was long enough to impress indelibly
and startlingly every trace of that strange vision upon his heart.
The face was turned to his, with a solemn yet sorrowful earnest-
ness of expression, and the mailed hand raised on high, seemed
pointing unto heaven. The flash passed and all was darkness,
the more dense and impenetrable, from the vivid light which
had preceded it ; but Nigel stirred not, moved not, his every
sense absorbed, not in the weakness of mortal terror, but in one
overwhelming sensation of awe, which, while it oppressed the
spirit well-nigh to pain, caused it to long with an almost sick-
ening intensity for a longer and clearer view of that which had
come and passed with the lightning flash. Again the vivid
blaze dispersed the gloom, but no shadow met his fixed impas-
sioned gaze. Vision or reality, the form was gone ; there was
no trace, no sign of that which had been. For several succes-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 93

sive flashes Nigel remained gazing on the spot where the mailed
form had stood, as if he felt it would, it must again appear ;
but as time sped, and he saw but space, the soul relaxed from
its high-wrought mood, the blood, which had seemed stagnant
in his veins, rushed back tumultuously through its varied chan-
nels, and Nigel Bruce prostrated himself before the altar, to
wrestle with his perturbed spirit till it found calm in prayer.

A right noble and glorious scene did the great hall of the
palace present the morning which followed this eventful night.
The king, surrounded by his highest prelates and nobles, min-
gling indiscriminately with the high-born dames and maidens
of his court, all splendidly attired, occupied the upper part of
the hall, the rest of which was crowded both by his military
followers and many of the good citizens of Scone, who flocked
in great numbers to behold the august ceremony of the day.
Two immense oaken doors at the south side of the hall were
flung open, and through them was discerned the large space
forming the palace yard, prepared as a tilting-ground, where
the new-made knights were to prove their skill. The storm
had given place to a soft breezy morning, the cool freshness
of which appearing peculiarly grateful from the oppressiveness
of the night ; light downy clouds sailed over the blue expanse
of heaven, tempering without clouding the brilliant rays of the
sun. Every face was clothed with smiles, and the loud shouts
which hailed the youthful candidates for knighthood, as they
severally entered, told well the feeling with which the patriots
of Scotland were regarded.

Some twenty youths received the envied honor at the hand
of their sovereign this day, but our limits forbid a minute scru-
tiny of the bearing of any, however well deserving, save of the
two whose vigils have already detained us so long. A yet
longer and louder shout proclaimed the appearance of the
youngest scion of the house of Bruce, and his companion. The
daring patriotism of Isabella of Buchan had enshrined her in
every heart, and so disposed all men towards her children, that
the name of their traitorous father was forgotten. .

Led by their godfathers, Nigel by his brother-in-law, Sir
Christopher Seaton, and Alan by the Earl of Lennox, their
swords, which had been blessed by the abbot at the altar,
slung round their necks, they advanced up the hall. There
was a glow on the cheek of the young Alan, in which pride

94 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

and modesty were mingled ; his step at first was unsteady, and
his lip was seen to quiver from very bashfulness, as he first
glanced round the hall and felt that every eye was turned to-
wards him ; but when that glance met his mother's fixed on
him, and breathing that might of love which filled her heart,
all boyish tremors fled, the calm, staid resolve of manhood took
the place of the varying glow upon his cheek, the quivering lip
became compressed and firm, and his step faltered not again.

The cheek of Nigel Bruce was pale, but there was firmness
in the glance of his bright eye, and a smile unclouded in its
joyance on his lip. The frivolous lightness of the courtier, the
mad bravado of knight-errantry, which was not uncommon to
the times, indeed, were not there. It was the quiet courage
of the resolved warrior, the calm of a spirit at peace with itself,
shedding its own high feeling and poetic glory over all around
him.

On reaching the foot of King Robert's throne, both youths
knelt and laid their sheathed swords at his feet. Their armor-
bearers then approached, and the ceremony of clothing the
candidates in steel commenced ; the golden spur was fastened
on the left foot of each by his respective godfather, while
Athol, Hay, and other nobles advanced to do honor to the
youths, by aiding in the ceremony. Nor was it warriors alone.

" Is this permitted, lady ?" demanded the king, smiling, as
the Countess of Buchan approached the martial group, and,
aided by Lennox, fastened the polished cuirass on the form of
her son. " Is it permitted for a matron to arm a youthful
knight ? Is there no maiden to do such inspiring office ?"

" Yes, when the knight be one as this, my liege," she an-
swered, in the same tone ; " let a matron arm him, good my
liege," she added, sadly — "let a mother's hand enwrap his
boyish limbs in steel, a mother's blessing mark him thine and
Scotland's, that those who watch his bearing in the battle-field
may know who sent him there, may thrill his heart with memo-
ries of her who stands alone of her ancestral line, that though
he bears the name of Comyn, the blood of Fife flows reddest
in his veins."

" Arm him and welcome, noble lady," answered the king,
and a buzz of approbation ran through the hall ; " and may
thy noble spirit and dauntless loyalty inspire him ; we shall not
need a trusty follower while such as he are round us. Yet, in

THE DAYS OF BEUOE. 95

very deed, my youthful knight must have a lady fair for whom
he tilts to-day. Come hither, Isoline ; thou lookest verily in-
clined to envy thy sweet friend her office, and nothing loth to
have a loyal knight thyself. Come, come, my pretty one, no
blushing now. Lennox, guide those tiny hands aright."

Laughing and blushing, Isoline, the daughter of Lady Camp-
bell, a sister of the Bruce, a graceful child of some thirteen
summers, advanced, nothing loth, to obey her royal uncle's
summons, and an arch smile of real enjoyment irresistibly stole
over the countenance of Alan, dispersing the emotion his
mother's words produced.

"Nay, tremble not, sweet one," the king continued, in a
lower and yet kinder tone, as he turned from the one youth to
the other, and observed that Agnes, overpowered by emotion,
had scarcely power to perform her part, despite the whispered
words of encouraging affection Nigel murmured in her ear.
Imaginative to a degree, which, by her quiet, subdued manners,
was never suspected, the simple act of those early flowers
withering in her grasp, fresh as they were from the hand of her
betrothed, had weighed down her spirits as with an indefinable
sense of pain, which she could not combat. The war of the
elements, attending as it did the vigil of her lover, had not de-
creased these feelings, and the morning found her dispirited and
shrinking in sensitiveness from the very scene she had antici-
pated with joy.

" It must not be with a trembling hand the betrothed of a
Bruce arms her chosen knight, fair Agnes," continued the king,
cheeringly. " She must inspire him with valor and confidence.
Smile, then, gentlest and loveliest ; we would have all smiles
to-day."

And she did smile, but it was a smile of tears, gleaming on
her beautiful face as a sunny beam through a glistening spray.
One by one the cuirass and shoulder-pieces, the greaves and
gauntlets, the gorget and brassards, the joints of which were
so beautifully burnished that they shone as mirrors, and so
flexible every limb had its free use, enveloped those manly forms.
Their swords once again girt to their sides, and once more keel-
ing, the king descended from his throne, and alternately dub-
bed them knight in the name of God, St. Michael, and St.
George:

" Be faithful, brave, and hardy, youthful cavaliers," he said ;

96 THE DAYS OP BRUCE.

" true to the country which claims ye, to the monarch ye have
sworn to serve, to the knight from whose sword ye have re-
ceived the honor ye have craved. Remember, 'tis not the tour-
nay nor the tilted field in'which ye will gain renown. For
your country let your swords be drawn ; against her. foes reap
laurels. Sir Nigel, 'tis thine to retain unsullied the name thou
bearest, to let the Bruce be glorified in thee. And thou, Sir
Alan, 'tis thine to earn a name — in very truth, to win thy
golden spurs ; to prove we do no unwise deed, forgetting thy
early years, to do honor to thy mother's son."

Lightly and eagerly the new-made knights sprung to their
feet, the very clang of their glittering armor ringing gratefully
and rejoicingly in their ears. Their gallant steeds, barded
and richly caparisoned, held by their esquires, stood neighing
and pawing at the foot of the steps leading from the oaken
doors.

Without touching the stirrup, both sprung at the same in-
stant in their saddles ; the helmet, with its long graceful plume,
was quickly donned ; the lance and shield received ; the pennon
adorning the iron head of each lowered a moment in honor to
their sovereign, then waved gayly in air, and then each lance
was laid in rest ; a trumpet sounded, and onward darted the
fiery youths thrice round the lists, displaying a skill and cour-
age in horsemanship which was hailed with repeated shouts of
applause. But on the tournay and the banquet which suc-
ceeded the ceremony we have described we may not linger, but
pass rapidly on to a later period of the same evening.

Sir Nigel and his beautiful betrothed had withdrawn a while
from the glittering scene around them ; they had done their
part in the graceful dance, and now they sought the compara-
tive solitude and stillness of the flower-gemmed terrace, on
which the ball-room opened, to speak unreservedly the thoughts
which had filled each heart ; perchance there were some yet
veiled, for the vision of the preceding night, the strange, incon-
gruous fancies it had engendered in the youthful warrior, a
solemn vow had buried deep in his own soul, and not even to
Agnes, to whom his heart was wont to be revealed, might such
thoughts find words ; and she shrunk in timidity from avowing
the inquietude of her own simple heart, and thus it was that
each, for the sake of the other, spoke hopefully and eheeringly,
and gayly, until at length they were but conscious of mutual

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 97

and devoted love — the darkening mists of the future lost in the
radiance of the present sun.

A sudden pause in the inspiring music, the quick advance of
all the different groups towards orle particular spot, had failed
perchance to interrupt the happy converse of the lovers, had
not Sir Alan hastily approached them, exclaiming, as he did so —

" For the love of heaven ! Nigel, forget Agnes for one mo-
ment, and come along with me. A messenger from Pembroke
has just arrived, bearing a challenge, or something very like it,
to his grace the king ; and it may be we shall win our spurs
sooner than we looked for this morning. The sight of Sir
Henry Seymour makes the war trumpet sound in mine ears.
Come, for truly there is something astir."

With Agnes still leaning on his arm, Nigel obeyed the sum-
mons of his impatient friend, and joined the group around th'e
king. There was a quiet dignity in the attitude and aspect of
Robert Bruce, or it might be the daring patriotism of his enter-
prise was appreciated by the gallant English knight ; certain it
was that, though Sir Henry's bearing had been somewhat
haughty, his brow knit, and his head still covered, as he passed
up the hall, by an irresistible impulse he doffed his helmet as
he met the eagle glance of the Bruce, and bowed his head re-
spectfully before him, an example instantly followed by his
attendants.

" Sir Henry Seymour is welcome to our court," said the
king, courteously ; " welcome, whatever message he may bear.
How fares it with the chivalric knight and worthy gentleman,
Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke ? Ye bring us a mes-
sage from him, 'tis said. Needs it a private hearing, sir knight ?
if so, we are at your service ; yet little is it Ayraer de Valence
can say to Scotland's king which Scotland may not hear."

" Pembroke is well, an please you, and sendeth greeting,"
replied the knight. " His message, sent as it is to the Bruce,
is well fitted for the ears of his followers, therefore may it be
spoken here. He sendeth all loving and knightly greeting unto
him known until now as Robert Earl of Carrick, and bids him,
an he would proclaim and prove the rights he hath assumed,
come forth from the narrow precincts of a palace and town,
which ill befit a warrior of such high renown, and give him
battle in the Park of Methven, near at hand. He challenges
him to meet him there, with nobles, knights, and yeomen, who

5

98 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

proclaiming Robert Bruce their sovereign, cast down the gaunt-
let of defiance and rebellion against their rightful king and mine,
his grace of England ; he challenges thee, sir knight, or earl, or
king, whichever name thou b§arest, and dares thee to the field."

" And what if we accept not his daring challenge ?" de-
manded King Robert, sternly, without permitting the expres-
sion of his countenance to satisfy in any way the many anxious
glances fixed upon it.

" He will proclaim thee coward knight and traitor slave,"
boldly answered Sir Henry. " In camp or in hall, in lady's
bower or tented field, he will proclaim thee recreant ; one that
took upon himself the state and pomp of royalty without the
spirit to defend and prove it."

" Had he done so by our predecessor, Baliol, he had done
well," returned the king, calmly. " Nobles, and knights, and
gentlemen," he added, the lion spirit of his race kindling in his
eye and cheek, " what say ye in accepting the bold challenge
of this courtly earl ? Do we not read your hearts as well as
our own ? Ye have chafed and fretted that we have retained
ye so long inactive : in very truth your monarch's spirit chafed
and fretted too. We will do battle with this knightly foe, and
give him, in all chivalric and honorable courtesy, the meeting
he desires."

One startling and energetic shout burst simultaneously from
the warriors around, forming a wild and thrilling response to
their sovereign's words. In vain they sought to restrain that
outbreak of rejoicing, in respect to the royal presence ; they
had pined, they had yearned for action, and Sir Henry was too
good a knight himself not to understand to the full the patriotic
fervor and chivalrous spirit from which that shout had sprung.
Proudly and joyfully the Bruce looked on his devoted adhe-
rents, and then addressed the English knight.

" Thou hast our answer, good Sir Henry," he said ; " more
thou couldst scarcely need. Commend us to your master, and
take heed thou sayest all that thou hast heard and seen in an-
swer to his challenge. In the Park of Methven, three days
hence, he may expect the King of Scotland and his patriot
troops with him, to do battle unto death. Edward, good
brother, thou, Seaton, and the Lord of Douglas, conduct this
worthy knight in all honor from the hall. Thou hast our
answer."

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 99

The knight bowed low, but ere he retreated he spoke again.
" I am charged with yet another matter, an it so please you,"
he said, evidently studying to avoid all royal titles, although
the bearing of the king rendered his task rather more difficult
than he could have imagined; "a matter of small import, truly,
yet must it be spoken. Tis rumored that you have amid your
household a child, a boy, whose father was a favored servant
of my gracious liege and yours, King Edward. The Earl of
Pembroke, in the name of his sovereign and of the child's
father, bids me demand him of thee, as having, from his tender
years and inexperience, no will nor voice in this matter, he
having been brought here by his mother, who, saving your
presence, had done better to have remembered her duty to her
husband than encourage rebellion against her king."

" Keep to the import of thy message, nor give thy tongue
such license, sir," interrupted the Bruce, sternly ; and many
an eye flashed, and many a hand sought his sword. " Sir Alan
of Buchan, stand forth and give thine own answer to this im-
perative demand ; 'tis to thee, methinks, its import would refer.
Thou hast wisdom and experience, if not years enough, to an-
swer for thyself.

" Tell Aymer de Valence, would he seek me, he will find me
by the side of my sovereign King Robert, in Methven Park,
three days hence," boldly and quickly answered the young sol-
dier, stepping forward from his post in the circle, and fronting
the knight. " Tell him I am here of my own free will, to ac-
knowledge Robert the Bruce as mine and Scotland's king ; to
defy the tyrant Edward, even to the death ; tell him 'tis no
child he seeks, but a knight and soldier, who will meet him on
the field."

" It would seem we are under some mistake, young sir," re-
plied Sir Henry, gazing with unfeigned admiration on the well-
knit frame and glowing features of the youthful knight. " I
speak of and demand the surrender of the son and heir of John
Comyn, Earl of Buchan, who was represented to me as a child
of some ten or thirteen summers ; 'tis with him, not with thee,
my business treats."

" And 'tis the son — I know not how long heir — of John
Comyn, Earl of Buchan, who speaks with thee, sir knight. It
may well be, my very age, my very existence hath been forgot-
ten by my father," he added, with a fierceness and bitterness

100 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

little in accordance with his years, " aye, and would have been
remembered no more, had not the late events recalled them ;
yet 'tis even so — and that thy memory prove not treacherous,
there lies my gage. Foully and falsely hast thou spoken of
Isabella of Buchan, and her honor is dear to her son as is his
own. In Methven Park we two shall meet, sir knight, and the
child, the puny stripling, who hath of his own nor voice nor
will, will not fail thee, be thou sure."

Proudly, almost sternly, the boy fixed his flashing orbs on
the English knight, and without removing his glance, strode
to the side of his mother and drew her arm within his own.
There was something in the accent, in the saddened yet reso-
lute expression of his countenance, which forbade all rejoinder,
not from Sir Henry alone, but even from his own friends. Sey-
mour raised the gage, and with a meaning smile secured it in
his helmet ; then respectfully saluting the group around him,
withdrew, attended as desired by the Bruce.

" Heed it not, my boy, my own noble boy !" said the Count-
ess of Buchan, in those low, earnest, musical tones peculiarly
her own ; for she saw that there was a quivering in the lip, a
sudden paleness in the cheek of her son, as he gazed up in her
face, when he thought they stood alone, which denoted inter-
nal emotion yet stronger than that which had inspired his pre-
vious words. " Their scorn, their contumely, I heed as little
as the mountain rock the hailstones which fall upon its sides,
in vain seeking to penetrate or wound. Nay, I could smile at
them in very truth, were it not that compelled as I am to act
alone, to throw aside as worthless and rejected those natural
ties I had so joyed to wear, my heart seems closed to smiles ;
but for words as those, or yet harsher scorn, grieve not, my
noble boy, they have no power to fret or hurt me."

" Yet to hear them speak in such tone of thee — thee, whose
high soul and noble courage would shame a score of some who
write themselves men ! — thee, who with all a woman's loving
heart, and guileless, unselfish, honorable mind, hath all a war-
rior's stern resolve, a patriot's noble purpose ! Mother, mother,
how may thy son brook scorn and falsity, and foul calumny
cast upon thee ?" and there was a choking suffocation in his
throat, filling his eyes perforce with tears ; and had it not been
that manhood struggled for dominion, he would have flung
himself upon his mother's breast and wept.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 101

" As a soldier and a man, my son," she drew him closer to
her as she spoke ; " as one who, knowing and feeling the worth
of the contemned one, is conscious that the foul tongues of evil
men can do no ill, but fling back the shame upon themselves.
Arouse thee, my beloved son. Alas ! when I look on thee, on
thy bright face, on those graceful limbs, so supple now in
health and life, and feel to what my deed may have devoted
thee, my child, my child, I need not slanderous tongues to
grieve me !"

" And doth the Countess of Buchan repent that deed ?"
asked the rich sonorous voice of the Bruce, who, unobserved,
had heard their converse. " Would she recall that which she
hath done ?"

" Sire, not so," she answered ; " precious as is my child to
this lone heart — inexpressibly dear and precious — yet if the
liberty of his country demand me to resign him, the call shall
be obeyed."

" Speak not thus, noble lady," returned the king, cheerily.
" He is but lent, Scotland asks no more ; and when heaven
smiles on this poor country, smiles in liberty and peace, trust
me, such devotedness will not have been in vain. Our youth-
ful knight will lay many a wreath of laurel at his mother's feet,
nor will there then be need to guard her name from scorn.
See what new zest and spirit have irradiated the brows of our
warlike guests ; we had scarce deemed more needed than was
there before, yet the visit of Sir Henry Seymour, bearing as it
did a challenge to strife and blood, hath given fresh lightness
to every step, new joyousness to every tone. Is not this as it
should be ?"

" Aye, as it must be, sire, while loyal hearts and patriot
spirits form thy court. Nobly and gallantly was the answer
given to Pembroke's challenge. Yet pardon me, sire, was it
wise — was it well ?"

" Its wisdom, lady, rests with its success in the hands of a
higher power," answered the king, gravely, yet kindly. " Other
than we did we could not do ; rashly and presumptuously we
would not have left our quarters. Not for the mere chase of,
mad wish for glory would we have risked the precious lives of
our few devoted friends, but challenged as we were, the soul
of Bruce could not have spoken other than he did ; nor do we
repent, nay, we rejoice that the stern duty of inaction is over.

102 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

Thine eye tells me thou canst understand this, lady, therefore
we say no more, save to beseech thee to inspire our consort
with the necessity of this deed ; she trembles for the issue of
our daring. See how grave and sad she looks, so lately as she
was all smiles."

The countess did not reply, but hastened to the side of the
amiable, but yet too womanly Queen Margaret, and gently, but
invisibly sought to soothe her fears ; and she partially succeeded,
for the queen ever seemed to feel herself a bolder and firmer
character when in the presence and under the influence of Isa-
bella of Buchan.

CHAPTER X.

IT was a gallant, though, alas ! but too small a force which,
richly and bravely accoutred, with banners proudly flying,
music sounding, superb chargers caparisoned for war, lances in
rest, and spear and bill, sword and battle-axe, marched through
the olden gates of Scone in a south-westward direction, early
on the morning of the 25th of June, 1306. Many were the
admiring eyes and yearning hearts which followed them, and if
doubt and dread did mingle in the fervid aspirations raised for
their welfare and success, they were not permitted to gain as-
cendency so long as the cheering tones and happy smiles of
every one of that patriot band lingered on the ear and sight.
As yet there were but few of the nobles and knights with their
men. The troops had been commanded to march leisurely for-
ward, under charge of the esquires and gentlemen, who were
mostly lieutenants or cornets to their leaders' respective bands
of followers ; and, if not overtaken before, to halt in a large
meadow to the north of Perth, which lay in their way.

The knots of citizens, however, who had accompanied the
army to the farthest environs of the town, had not dispersed to
their several homes ere the quick, noisy clattering of a gallant
troop of horse echoed along the street, and the king, surrounded
by his highest nobles and bravest knights, galloped by, courte-
ously returning the shouts and acclamations of delight which
hailed him on every side. His vizor was purposely left up, and
his noble countenance, beaming with animation and hope, seem-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 103

ed to inspire fresh hope and confidence in all that gazed. A
white ostrich plume, secured to his helmet by a rich clasp of
pearls and diamonds, fell over his left shoulder till it well-nigh
mingled with the flowing mane of his charger, whose coal-black
glossy hide was almost concealed beneath the armor which en-
veloped him, and the saddle-cloth of crimson velvet, whose
golden fringe nearly swept the ground. King Robert was
clothed in the same superb suit of polished steel armor, inlaid
and curiously wrought with ingrained silver, in which we saw
him at first ; a crimson scarf secured his trusty sword to his
side, and a short mantle of azure velvet, embroidered with the
golden thistle of Scotland, and lined with the richest sable, was
secured at his throat by a splendid collaret of gems. The costly
materials of his dress, and, yet more, the easy and graceful seat
upon his charger, his chivalric bearing, and the frank, noble
expression of his countenance, made him, indeed, " look every
inch a king," and might well of themselves have inspired and
retained the devoted loyalty of his subjects, even had there been
less of chivalry in his daring rising.

Edward Bruce was close beside his brother. With a figure
and appearance equally martial and equally prepossessing, he
wanted the quiet dignity, the self-possession of voice and fea-
ture which characterized the king. He had not the mind of
Robert, and consequently the uppermost passion of the spirit
was ever the one marked on his brow. On this morning he
was all animated smiles, for war was alike his vocation and his
pastime.

Thomas and Alexander Bruce were also there, both gallant
men and well-tried warriors, and eager as Edward for close en-
counter with the foe. The Earls of Lennox and Athol, although
perhaps in their secret souls they felt that the enterprise was
rash, gave no evidence of reluctance in their noble bearing ;
indeed, had they been certain of marching to their death, they
would not have turned from the side of Bruce. The broad
banner of Scotland, whose ample folds waved in the morning
breeze, had been intrusted to the young heir of Buchan, who,
with the other young and new-made knights, eager and zealous
to win their spurs, had formed a body guard around the ban-
ner, swearing to defend it to the last moment of their lives.
Nigel Bruce was one of these ; he rode close beside his brother
in arms, and midst that animated group, those eager spirits

104: THE DATS OF BRUCE.

throbbing for action, no heart beat quicker than his own. All
was animated life, anticipated victory ; the very heavens smiled
as if they would shed no shadow on this patriot band.

It was scarcely two hours after noon when King Robert and
his troops arrived at the post assigned — the park or wood of
Methven ; and believing that it was not till the succeeding day
to which the challenge of Pembroke referred, he commanded
his men to make every preparation for a night encampment.
The English troops lay at about a quarter of a mile distant, on
the side of a hill, which, as well as tree and furze would per-
mit, commanded a view of the Bruce's movements. There
were tents erected, horses picketed, and every appearance of
quiet, confirming the Scotch in their idea of no engagement
taking place till the morrow.

Aware of the great disparity of numbers, King Robert
eagerly and anxiously examined his ground as to the best spot
for awaiting the attack of the English. He fixed on a level
green about half a mile square, guarded on two sides by a thick
wood of trees, on the third and left by a deep running rivulet,
and open on the fourth, encumbered only by short, thick bushes
and little knots of thorn, which the king welcomed, as imped-
ing the progress and obstructing the evolutions of Pembroke's
horse. The bushes which were scattered about on the ground
he had chosen, he desired his men to clear away, and ere the
sun neared his setting, all he wished was accomplished, and his
plan of battle arranged. He well remembered the impenetrable
phalanx of the unfortunate Wallace at the battle of Falkirk,
and determined on exposing a steady front of spears in the same
manner. Not having above thirty horse on whom he could
depend, and well aware they would be but a handful against
Pembroke's two hundred, he placed them in the rear as a re-
serve, in the centre of which waved the banner of Scotland.
The remainder of his troops he determined on arranging in a
compact crescent, the bow exposed to the English, the line
stretching out against the wood. This was his intended line of
battle, but, either from mistake or purposed treachery on the
part of Pembroke, his plan was frustrated, and in addition to
the great disparity of numbers he had to struggle with surprise.

The day had been extremely sultry, and trusting in full con-
fidence to the honor of his opponent, and willing to give his
men all needful rest, the king dismissed them from their ranks

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 105

to refreshment and repose, leaving but very few to guard, him-
self retiring with his older officers to a tent prepared for his
reception.

Arm in arm, and deep in converse, Nigel Bruce and Alan of
Buchan wandered a little apart from their companions, prefer-
ring a hasty meal and the calm beauty of a lovely summer even-
ing, accompanied by a refreshing breeze, to remaining beside
the rude but welcome meal, and sharing the festivity which
enlivened it.

" Thinkest thou not, Nigel, his grace trusts but too fully to
the honor of these Englishmen ?" asked Alan, somewhat
abruptly, turning the conversation from the dearer topics of
Agnes and her mother, which had before engrossed them.

" On my faith, if he judge of them by his own true, noble
spirit, he judges them too well."

" Nay, thou art over-suspicious, friend Alan," answered
Nigel, smiling. " What fearest thou ?"

" I like not the absence of all guards, not so much for the
safety of our own camp, but to keep sharp watch on the move-
ments of our friends yonder. Nigel, there is some movement ;
they look not as they did an hour ago."

" Impossible, quite impossible, Alan ; the English knights
are too chivalric, too honorable, to advance on us to-night. If
they have made a movement, 'tis but to repose."

" Nigel, if Pembroke feel inclined to take advantage of our
unguarded situation, he will swear, as many have done before
him, that a new day began with the twelve-chime bell of this
morning, and be upon us ere we are aware ; and I say again,
there is movement, and warlike movement, too, in yonder army.
Are tents deserted, and horses and men collected, for the simple
purpose of retiring to rest ? Come with me to yon mound,
and see if I be not correct in my surmise."

Startled by Alan's earnest manner, despite his firm reliance
on Pembroke's honor, Nigel made no further objection, but
hastened with him to the eminence he named. It was only too
true. Silently and guardedly the whole English army, extend-
ing much further towards Perth than was visible to the Scotch,
had been formed in battle array, line after line stretching forth
its glittering files, in too compact and animated array to admit
of a doubt as to their intentions. The sun had completely
sunk, and dim mists were spreading up higher and higher from

5*

106 THE DATS OF BKUCE.

the horizon, greatly aiding the treacherous movements of the
English.

" By heavens, 'tis but too true !" burst impetuously from
Nigel's lips, indignation expressed in every feature. "Base,
treacherous cowards ! Hie thee to the king — fly for thy life —
give him warning, while I endeavor to form the lines. In vain,
utterly in vain !" he muttered, as Alan with the speed of light-
ning darted down the slope. " They are formed — fresh, both
man and horse — double, aye, more than treble our numbers ;
they will be upon us ere the order of battle can be formed, and
defeat now — "

He would not give utterance to the dispiriting truth which
closed that thought, but springing forward, dashed through
fern and brake, and halted not till he stood in the centre of his
companions, who, scattered in various attitudes on the grass,
were giving vent, in snatches of song and joyous laughter, to
the glee which filled their souls.

" Up ! up ! — the foe !" shouted Nigel, in tones so unlike the
silvery accents which in general characterized him, that his
companions started to their feet and grasped their swords, as
roused by the sound of trumpet. " Pembroke is false : to arms
— to your posts ! Fitz-Alan — Douglas — sound an alarm, and,
in heaven's name, aid me in getting the men under arms ! Be
calm, be steady ; display no alarm, no confusion, and all may
yet be well."

He was obeyed. The quick roll of the drum, the sharp,
quick blast of the trumpet echoed and re-echoed at different
sides of the encampment ; the call to arms, in various stentorian
tones, rung through the woodland glades, quickly banishing all
other sounds. Every man sprung at once from his posture of
repose, and gathered round their respective leaders ; startled,
confused, yet still in order, still animated, still confident, and
yet more exasperated against their foe.

The appearance of their sovereign, unchanged in his com-
posed and warlike mien, evincing perhaps yet more animation
in his darkly flushing cheek, compressed lip, and sparkling eye ;
his voice still calm, though his commands were more than
usually hurried ; his appearance on every side, forming, ar-
ranging, encouraging, almost at the same instant — at one mo-
ment exciting their indignation against the treachery of the foe,
at others appealing to their love for their country, their homes,

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 107

their wives, to their sworn loyalty to himself — inspired courage
and confidence at the same instant as he allayed confusion ; but
despite every effort both of leader and men, it needed time to
form in the compact order which the king had planned, and ere
it was accomplished, nearer and nearer came the English, in-
creasing their pace to a run as they approached, and finally
charging in full and overwhelming career against the unpre-
pared but gallant Scots. Still there was no wavering amid the
Scottish troops ; still they stood their ground, and forming, al-
most as they fought, in closer and firmer order, exposing the
might and unflinching steadiness of desperate men, determined
on liberty or death, to the greater number and better discipline
of their foe. It mattered not that the fading light of day had
given place to the darker shades of night, but dimly illumined
by the rising moon — they struggled on, knowing as if by in-
stinct friend from foe. And fearful was it to watch the mighty
struggles from figures gleaming as gigantic shadows in the
darkness ; now and then came a deep smothered cry or burst-
ing groan, wrung from the throes of death, or the wild, piercing
scream from a slaughtered horse, but the tongues of life were
silent ; the clang of armor, the clash of steel, the heavy fall of
man and horse, indeed came fitfully and fearfully on the night
breeze, and even as the blue spectral flash of summer lightning
did the bright swords rise and fall in the thick gloom.

" Back, back, dishonored knight ! back, recreant traitor !"
shouted James of Douglas ; and his voice was heard above the
roar of battle, and those near him saw him at the same instant
spring from his charger, thrust back Pembroke and other
knights who were thronging round him, and with unrivalled
skill and swiftness aid a tall and well-known form to rise and
spring on the horse he held for him. " Thinkest thou the sa-
cred person of the King of Scotland is for such as thee ? back,
I say !" And he did force him, armed and on horseback as he
was, many paces back, and Robert Bruce again galloped over
the field, bareheaded indeed, for his helmet had fallen off in the
strife, urging, inciting, leading on yet again to the charge.
And it was in truth as if a superhuman strength and presence
had been granted the patriot king that night, for there were
veteran warriors there, alike English and Scotch, who paused
even in the work of strife to gaze and tremble.

Again was he unhorsed, crushed by numbers — one moment

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

more and he had fallen into the hands of his foes, and Scotland
had lain a slave forever at the feet of England ; but again was
relief at hand, and the young Earl of Mar, dashing his horse
between the prostrate monarch and his thronging enemies, laid
the foremost, who was his own countryman, dead on the field,
and remained fighting alone; his single arm dealing deadly
blows on every side at the same moment until Robert had re-
gained his feet, and, though wounded and well-nigh exhausted,
turned in fury to the rescue of his preserver. It was too late ;
in an agony of spirit no pen can describe, he beheld his faith-
ful and gallant nephew overpowered by numbers and led off a
captive, and he stood by, fighting indeed like a lion, dealing-
death wherever his sword fell, but utterly unable to rescue or
defend him. Again his men thronged round him, their rallying
point, their inspiring hope, their guardian spirit ; again he was
on horseback, and still, still that fearful strife continued. Aid-
ed by the darkness, the Bruce in his secret soul yet encouraged
one gleam of hope, yet dreamed of partial success, at least of
avoiding that almost worse than death, a total and irremediable
defeat. Alas, had the daylight suddenly illumined that scene,
he would have felt, have seen that hope was void.

Gallantly, meanwhile, gallantly even as a warrior of a hun-
dred fields, had the young heir of Buchan redeemed his pledge
to his sovereign, and devoted sword and exposed life in his
cause. The standard of Scotland had never touched the ground.
Planting it firmly in the earth, he had for a while defended it
nobly where he stood, curbing alike the high spirit of his pranc-
ing horse and his own intense longing to dash forward in the
thickest of the fight. He saw his companions fall one by one,
till he was well-nigh left alone. He heard confused cries, as
of triumph ; he beheld above twenty Englishmen dashing to-
wards him, and he felt a few brief minutes and his precious
charge might be waved in scorn as a trophy by the victors ;
the tide of battle had left him for an instant comparatively
alone, and in that instant his plan was formed.

" Strike hard, and fear not !" he cried to an old retainer,
who stirred not from his side ; " divide this heavy staff, and I
will yet protect my charge, and thou and I, Donald, will to
King Robert's side ; he needs all true men about him now."

Even as he spoke his command was understood and obeyed.
One sweep of the stout Highlander's battle-axe severed full

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 109

four feet of the heavy lance to which the standard was attached,
and enabled Alan without any inconvenience to grasp in his
left hand the remainder, from which the folds still waved ;
grasping his sword firmly in his right, and giving his horse the
rein, shouting, " Comyn, to the rescue !" he darted towards the
side where the strife waxed hottest.

It was a cry which alike startled friends and foes, for that
name was known to one party as so connected with devoted
adherence to Edward, to the other so synonymous with treach-
ery, that united as it was with "to the rescue," some there
were who paused to see whence and from whom it came. The
banner of Scotland quickly banished doubt as to which party
that youthful warrior belonged ; knights and yeomen alike
threw themselves in his path to obtain possession of so dear a
prize. Followed by about ten stalwart men of his clan, the
young knight gallantly cut his way through the greater number
of his opponents, but a sudden gleam on the helmet of one of
them caused him to halt suddenly.

" Ha ! Sir Henry Seymour, we have met at length !" he
shouted. " Thou bearest yet my gage — 'tis well. I am here
to redeem it."

" Give up that banner to a follower, then," returned Sir
Henry, courteously, checking his horse in its full career, " for
otherwise we meet at odds. Thou canst not redeem thy gage,
and defend thy charge at the same moment."

" Give up my charge ! Never, so help me heaven ! Friend
or foe shall claim it but with my life," returned Alan, proudly.
" Come on, sir knight ; I am here to defend the honor thou
hast injured — the honor of one dearer than my own."

" Have then thy will, proud boy : thy blood be on thine own
head," replied Seymour ; but ere he spurred on to the charge,
he called aloud, " let none come between us, none dare to in-
terfere— 'tis a quarrel touching none save ourselves," and Alan
bowed his head, in courteous recognition of the strict observ-
ance of the rules of chivalry in his adversary, at the very mo-
ment that he closed with him in deadly strife ; and such was
war in the age of chivalry, and so strict were its rules, that
even with the standard of Scotland in his hand, the person of
the heir of Buchan was sacred to all save to his particular op-
ponent.

It was a brief yet determined struggle. Their swords cross-

110 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

ed and recrossed with such force and rapidity, that sparks of
fire flashed from the blades ; the aim of both appeared rather
to unhorse and disarm than slay : Seymour, perhaps, from
admiration of the boy's extraordinary bravery and daring, and
Alan from a feeling of respect for the true chivalry of the Eng-
lish knight. The rush of battle for a minute unavoidably sep-
arated them. About four feet of the banner-staff yet remained
uninjured, both in its stout wood and sharp iron head ; with
unparalleled swiftness, Alan partly furled the banner round the
pike, and transferred it to his right hand, then grasping it firmly,
and aiming full at Sir Henry's helm, backed his horse several
paces to allow of a wider field, gave his steed the spur, and
dashed forward quick as the wind. The manoeuvre succeeded.
Completely unprepared for this change alike in weapon and
attack, still dazzled and slightly confused by the rush which
had divided them, Sir Henry scarcely saw the youthful knight,
till he felt his helmet transfixed by the lance, and the blow
guided so well and true, that irresistibly it bore him from his
horse, and he lay stunned and helpless, but not otherwise hurt,
at the mercy of his foe. Recovering his weapon, Alan, aware
that the great disparity of numbers rendered the securing Eng-
lish prisoners but a mere waste of time, contented himself by
waving the standard high in air, and again shouting his war-
cry, galloped impetuously on. Wounded he was, but he knew
it not ; the excitement, the inspiration of the moment was all
he felt.

" To the king — to the king !" shouted Nigel Bruce, urging
his horse to the side of Alan, and ably aiding him to strike
down their rapidly increasing foes. " Hemmed in on all sides,
he will fall beneath their thirsting swords. To the king — to
the king ! Yield he never will ; and better he should not.
On, on, for the love of life, of liberty, of Scotland ! — on to the
king !"

His impassioned words reached even hearts fainting 'neath
exhaustion, failing in hope, for they knew they strove in vain ;
yet did that tone, those words rouse even them, and their flag-
ging limbs grew strong for Robert's sake, and some yet reached
the spot to fight and die around him ; others — alas ! the great-
er number — fell ere the envied goal was gained.

The sight of the royal standard drew, as Alan had hoped,
the attention of some from the king, and gave him n few mo-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. Ill

ments to rally. Again there was a moment of diversion in fa-
vor of the Scotch. The brothers of the Bruce and some others
of his bravest knights were yet around him, seemingly unin-
jured, and each and all appeared endowed with the strength of
two. The gigantic form of Edward Bruce, the whelming sweep
of his enormous battle-axe, had cleared a partial space around
the king, but still the foes hemmed in, reinforced even as they
fell. About this time the moon, riding high in the heavens,
had banished the mists which had enveloped her rising, and
flung down a clear, silvery radiance over the whole field, dis-
closing for the first time to King Robert the exact situation in
which he stood. Any further struggle, and defeat, imprison-
ment, death, all stared him in the face, and Scotland's liberty
was lost, and forever. The agony of this conviction was known
to none save to the sovereign's own heart, and to that Searcher
of all, by whom its every throb was felt.

The wood behind him was still plunged in deep shadows,
and he knew the Grampian Hills, with all their inaccessible
paths and mountain fastnesses — known only to the true chil-
dren of Scotland — could easily be reached, were the pursuit
of the English eluded, which he believed could be easily ac-
complished, were they once enabled to retreat into the wood.

The consummate skill and prudence of the Bruce character-
izing him as a general, even as his extraordinary daring and
exhaustless courage marked the warrior, enabled him to effect
this precarious and delicate movement, in the very sight of and
almost surrounded by foes. Covering his troops, or rather the
scattered remnant of troops, by exposing his own person to the
enemy, the king was still the first object of attack, the desire
of securing his person, or, at least, obtaining possession of his
head, becoming more and more intense. But it seemed as
though a protecting angel hovered round him : for he had
been seen in every part of the field ; wherever the struggle
had been fiercest, he had been the centre ; twice he had been
unhorsed, and bareheaded almost from the commencement of
the strife, yet there he was still, seemingly as firm in his sad-
dle, as strong in frame, as unscathed in limb, as determined in
purpose, as when he sent back his acceptance of Pembroke's
challenge. Douglas, Fitz-Alan, Alexander and Nigel Bruce,
and Alan of Buchan, still bearing the standard, were close
around the king, and it was in this time of precaution, of less

112 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

inspiriting service, that the young Alan became conscious that
he was either severely wounded, or that the strength he had
taxed far heyond its natural powers was beginning to fail.
Still mechanically he grasped tne precious banner, and still he
crossed his sword with every foe that came ; but the quick eye
of Nigel discerned there was a flagging of strength, and he
kept close beside him to aid and defend. The desired goal was
just attained, the foes were decreasing in numbers, for they
were scattered some distance from each other, determined on
scouring the woods in search of fugitives, the horses of the
king and his immediate followers were urged to quicken their
pace, when an iron-headed quarel, discharged from an arbalist,
struck the royal charger, which, with a shrill cry of death,
dropped instantly, and again was the king unhorsed. The de-
lay occasioned in extricating him from the fallen animal was
dangerous in the extreme ; the greater part of his men were
at some distance, for the king had ordered them, as soon as
the unfrequented hollows of the wood were reached, to dis-
perse, the better to elude their pursuers. Douglas, Alexander
Bruce, and Fitz-Alan had galloped on, unconscious of the acci-
dent, and Nigel and Alan were alone near him. A minute
sufficed for the latter to spring from his horse and aid the king
to mount, and both entreated, conjured him to follow their
companions, and leave them to cover his retreat. A while he
refused, declaring he would abide with them : he would not so
cowardly desert them.

" Leave you to death !" he cried ; " my friends, my chil-
dren; no, no! Urge me no more. If I may not save my
country, I may die for her."

" Thou shalt not, so help me heaven !" answered Nigel,
impetuously. " King, friend, brother, there is yet time. Hence,
I do beseech thee, hence. Nay, an thou wilt not, I will e'en
forget thou art my king, and force thee from this spot."

He snatched the reins of his brother's horse, and urging it
with his own to their fullest speed, took the most unfrequented
path, and dashing over every obstacle, through brake and
briar, and over hedge and ditch, placed him in comparative
safety.

And was Alan deserted ? Did his brother in arms, in his
anxiety to save the precious person of his royal brother, forget
the tie that bound them, and leave him to die alone ? A sick-

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 113

ening sense of inability, of utter exhaustion, crept over the boy's
sinking frame, inability even to drag his limbs towards the wood
and conceal himself from his foes. Mechanically he at first
stood grasping the now-tattered colors, as if his hand were
nailed unto the staff, his foot rooted to the ground. There
were many mingled cries, sending their shrill echoes on the
night breeze ; there were chargers scouring the plain ; bodies
of men passing and repassing within twenty yards of the spot
where he stood, yet half hidden by the deep shadow of a large
tree, for some minutes he was unobserved. An armed knight,
with about twenty followers, were rushing by ; they stopped,
they recognized the bannSr ; they saw the bowed and drooping
figure who supported it, they dashed towards him. With a
strong effort Alan roused himself from that lethargy of faint-
ness. Nearer and nearer they came.

" Yield, or you die !" were the words borne to his ear, shrill,
loud, fraught with death, and his spirit sprang up with the
sound. He waved his sword above his head, and threw him-
self into a posture of defence ; but ere they reached him, there
was a sudden and rapid tramp of horse, and the voice of Nigel
Bruce shouted —

" Mount, mount ! God in heaven be thanked, I am here in
time !"

Alan sprung into the saddle ; he thought not to inquire
how that charger had been found, nor knew he till some
weeks after that Nigel had exposed his own person to immi-
nent danger, to secure one of the many steeds flying mas-
terless over the plain. On, on they went, and frequently the
head of Alan drooped from very faintness to his saddle-bow,
and Nigel feared to see him fall exhausted to the earth, but
still they pursued their headlong way. Death was behind
them, and the lives of all true and loyal Scotsmen were too
precious to admit a pause.

The sun had risen when King Robert gazed round him on
the remnant of his troops. It was a wild brake, amid sur-
rounding rocks and mountains where they stood ; a torrent
threw itself headlong from a craggy steep, and made its way to
the glen, tumbling and roaring and dashing over the black
stones that opposed its way. The dark pine, the stunted fir,
the weeping birch, and many another mountain tree, marked
the natural fertility of the soil, although its aspect seemed wild

114 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

and rude. It was to this spot the king had desired the fugi-
tives to direct their several ways, and now he gazed upon all,
all that were spared to him and Scotland from that disastrous
night. In scattered groups they stood or sate ; their swords
fallen from their hands, their heads drooping on their breasts,
with the mien of men -whose last hope had been cast on a sin-
gle die, and wrecked forever. And when King Robert thought
of the faithful men who, when the sun had set the previous
evening, had gathered round him in such devoted patriotism,
such faithful love, and now beheld the few there were to meet
his glance, to give him the sympathy, the hope he needed,
scarcely could he summon energy sufficient to speak against
hope, to rally the failing spirits of his remaining followers.
Mar, Athol, Hay, Fraser, he knew were prisoners, and he
knew, too, that in their cases that word was but synonymous
with death. Lennox, his chosen friend, individually the dear-
est of all his followers, he too was not there, though none re-
membered his being taken ; Randolph, his nephew, and about
half of those gallant youths who not ten days previous had re-
ceived and welcomed the honor of knighthood, in all the high
hopes and buoyancy of youth and healthful life ; more, many
more than half the number of the stout yeomen, who had risen
at his call to rescue their land from chains — where now were
these ? Was it wonder that the king had sunk upon a stone,
and bent his head upon his hands ? But speedily he rallied ;
he addressed each man by name ; he spoke comfort, hope, not
lessening the magnitude of his defeat, but still promising them
liberty — still promising that yet would their homes be redeemed,
their country free ; aye, even were he compelled to wander
months, nay, years in those mountain paths, with naught about
him but the title of a king ; still, while he had life, would he
struggle on for Scotland ; still did he feel, despite of blighted
hope, of bitter disappointment, that to him was intrusted the
sacred task of her deliverance. Would he, might he sink and
relax in his efforts and resign his purpose, because his first en-
gagement was attended by defeat ? had he done so, it was easy
to have found death on the field. Had he listened to the voice
of despair, he confessed, he would not have left that field alive.
"But I lived for my country, for ye, her children," he con-
tinued, his voice becoming impassioned in its fervor ; " lived to
redeem this night, to suffer on a while, to be your savior still.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 115

Will ye then desert me ? will ye despond, because of one de-
feat— yield to despair, when Scotland yet calls aloud ? No,
no, it cannot be !" and roused by his earnest, his eloquent ap-
peal, that devoted band sprung from their drooping posture,
and kneeling at his feet, renewed their oaths of allegiance to
him ; the oath that bound them to seek liberty for Scotland.
It was then, as one by one advanced, the king for the first time
missed his brother Nigel and the heir of Buchan ; amidst the
overwhelming bitterness of thought which had engrossed him,
he had for a brief while forgotten the precarious situation of
Alan, and the determination of Nigel to seek and save, or die
with him ; but now the recollection of both rushed upon him,
and the flush which his eloquence had summoned faded at once,
and the sudden expression of anguish passing over his features
roused the attention of all who stood near him.

"They must have fallen," he murmured, and for the first
time, in a changed and hollow voice. " My brother, my brother,
dearest, best ! can it be that, in thy young beauty, thou, too,
art taken from me ? — and Alan, how can I tell his mother —
how face her sorrow for her son ?"

Time passed, and there was no sound ; the visible anxiety of
the king hushed into yet deeper stillness the voices hushed
before. His meaning was speedily gathered from his broken
words, and many mounted the craggy heights to mark if there
might not yet be some signs of the missing ones. Time seemed
to linger on his flight. The intervening rocks and bushes con-
fined all sounds within a very narrow space ; but at length a
faint unintelligible noise broke on the stillness, it came nearer,
nearer still, a moment more and the tread of horses' hoofs
echoed amongst the rocks — a shout, a joyful shout proclaimed
them friends. The king sprung to his feet. Another minute
Nigel and Alan pressed around him ; with the banner still in
his hand, Alan knelt and laid it at his sovereign's feet.

" From thy hand I received it, to thee I restore it," he said,
but his voice was scarcely articulate ; he bowed his head to
press Robert's extended hand to his lips, and sunk senseless at
his feet.

116 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

CHAPTER XL

RUMORS of the fatal issue of the engagement at Methven
speedily reached Scone, laden, of course, with yet more dis-
astrous tidings than had foundation in reality. King Robert,
it was said, and all his nobles and knights — nay, his whole
army — were cut off to a man ; the king, if not taken prisoner,
was left dead on the field, and all Scotland lay again crushed
and enslaved at the feet of Edward. For four-and-twenty
hours did the fair inhabitants of the palace labor under this
belief, well-nigh stunned beneath the accumulation of misfor-
tune. It was curious to remark the different forms in which
affliction appeared in different characters. The queen, in loud
sobs and repeated wailing, at one time deplored her own mise-
ry ; at others, accused her husband of rashness and madness.
Why had he not taken her advice and remained quiet ? Why
could he not have been contented with the favor of Edward
and a proud, fair heritage ? What good did he hope to get
for himself by assuming the crown of so rude and barren a land
as Scotland ? Had she not told him he was but a summer
king, that the winter would soon blight his prospects and nip
his budding hopes ; and had she not proved herself wiser even
than he was himself ? and then she would suddenly break off
in these reproaches to declare that, if he were a prisoner, she
would go to him ; she would remain with him to the last ; she
would prove how much she idolized him — her own, her brave,
her noble Robert. And vain was every effort on the part of
her sisters-in-law and the Countess of Buchan, and other of her
friends, to mitigate these successive bursts of sorrow. The
Lady Seaton, of a stronger mind, yet struggled with despond-
ency, yet strove to hope, to * believe all was not as overwhelm-
ing as had been described ; although, if rumor were indeed
true, she had lost a husband and a son, the gallant young Earl
of Mar, whom she had trained to all noble deeds and honora-
ble thoughts, for he had been fatherless from infancy. Lady
Mary could forget her own deep anxieties, her own fearful, fore-
bodings, silently and unobservedly to watch, to follow, to tend
the Countess of Buchan, whose marble cheek and lip, and
somewhat sterner expression of countenance than usual, alone

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 117

betrayed the anxiety passing within, for words it found not.
She could share with her the task of soothing, of cheering
Agnes, whose young spirit lay crushed beneath this heavy
blow. She did not complain, she did not murmur, but evi-
dently struggled to emulate her mother's calmness, for she
would bend over her frame and endeavor to continue her em-
broidery. But those who watched her, marked her frequent
shudder, the convulsive sob, the tiny hands pressed closely to-
gether, and then upon her eyes, as if to still their smarting
throbs ; and Isoline, who sat in silence on a cushion at her feet,
could catch such low whispered words as these —

" Nigel, Nigel, could I but know thy fate ! Dead, dead ! —
could I not die with thee ? Imprisoned, have I not a right to
follow thee ; to tend, to soothe thee ? Any thing, oh, any
thing, but this horrible suspense ! Alan, my brother, thou too,
so young, to die."

The morning of tlje second day brought other and less dis-
tressing rumors ; all had not fallen, all were not taken. There
were tales of courage, of daring gallantry, of mighty struggles
almost past belief; but what were they, even in that era of
chivalry, to the heart sinking under apprehensions, the hopes
just springing up amidst the wild chaos of thoughts to smile a
moment, to be crushed 'neath suspense, uncertainty, the next ?
Still the eager tones of conjecture, the faintest-spoken whispers
of renewed hope, were better than the dead stillness, the heavy
hush of despair.

And the queen's apartments, in which at sunset all her
friends had assembled, presented less decided sounds of mourn-
ing and of wail, than the previous day. Margaret was indeed
still one minute plunged in tears and sobs, and the next hoping
more, believing more than any one around her. Agnes had
tacitly accompanied her mother and Lady Mary to the royal
boudoir, but she had turned in vei^ sickness of heart from all
her companions, and remained standing in a deep recess formed
by the high and narrow casement, alone, save Isoline, who still
clung to her side, pale, motionless as the marble statue near
her, whose unconscious repose she envied.

" Speak, Isabella, why will you not speak to me ?" said the
queen, fretfully. " My husband bade me look to thee for
strength, for support under care and affliction like to this, yet

118 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

thou keepest aloof from me ; thou hast words of comfort, ol
cheering for all save me."

" Not so, royal lady, not so," she answered, as with a faint,
scarcely perceptible smile, she advanced to the side of her royal
mistress, and took her hand in hers. " I have spoken, I have
urged, entreated, conjured thee to droop not ; for thy husband's
sake, to hope on, despite the terrible rumors abroad. I have
besought thee to seek firmness for his sake ; but thou didst but
tell me, Isabella, Isabella, thou canst not feel as I do, he is
naught to thee but thy king ; to me, what is he not ? king,
hero, husband — all, my only all ; and I have desisted, lady, for
I deemed my words offended, my counsel unadvised, and looked
on but as cold and foolish."

" Nay, did I say all this to thee ? Isabella, forgive me, for
indeed, indeed, I knew it not," replied Margaret, her previous
fretfulness subsiding into a softened and less painful burst of
weeping. " He is in truth, my all, my heart's dearest, best,
and without him, oh ! what am I ? even a cipher, a reed, use-
less to myself, to my child, as to all others. I am not like thee,
Isabella — would, would I were ; I should be more worthy of
my Robert's love, and consequently dearer to his heart. I can
be but a burden to him now."

" Hush, hush ! would he not chide thee for such words, my
Margaret ?" returned the countess, soothingly, and in a much
lower voice, speaking as she would to a younger sister. " Had
he not deemed thee worthy, would he have made thee his ?
oh, no, believe it not ; he is too true, too honorable for such
thought.*

" He loved me, because he saw I loved," whispered the
queen, perceiving that her companions had left her well-nigh
alone with the countess, and following, as was her custom,
every impulse of her fond but ill-regulated heart. " I had not
even strength to conceal ^iat — that truth which any other
would have died rather than reveal. He saw it a.nd his noble
spirit was touched ; and he has been all, all, aye, more than I
could have dreamed, to me — so loving and so true."

" Then why fancy thyself a burden, not a joy to him, sweet
friend ?" demanded Isabella of Buchan, the rich accents of her
voice even softer and sweeter than usual, for there was some-
thing in the clinging confidence of the queen it was impossible
not to love.

THE i)AYS OF BKUCE. 119

" I did not, I could not, for he cherished me so fondly till
this sudden rising— this time, when his desperate enterprise de-
mands energy and firmness, even from the humblest female,
how much more from the Bruce's wife ! and his manner is not
changed towards me, nor his love. I know he loves me,
cherishes me, as he ever did ; but he must pity my weakness,
my want of nerve ; when he compares me to himself, he must
look on me with almost contempt. For now it is, now that
clearer than ever his character stands forth in such glorious
majesty, such moderation, such a daring yet self-governed spirit,
that I feel how utterly unworthy I am of him, how little capa-
ble to give that spirit, that mind the reflection it 'must demand ;
and when my weak fears prevail, my weak fancies speak only
of danger and defeat, how can he bear with me ? Must I not
become, if I am not now, a burden ?"

" No, dearest Margaret," replied the countess, instantly.
" The mind that can so well appreciate the virtues of her hus-
band will never permit herself, through weakness and want of
nerve, to become a burden to him. Thou hast but to struggle
with these imaginary terrors, to endeavor to encourage, instead
of to dispirit, and he will love and cherish thee even more than
hadst thou never been unnerved."

" Let him but be restored to me, and I will do all this. I
will make myself more worthy of his love ; but, oh, Isabella,
while I speak this, perhaps he is lost to me forever ; I may
never see his face, never hear that tone of love again !" and a
fresh flood of weeping concluded her words.

" Nay, but thou wilt — I know thou wilt," answeted the
countess, cheeringly. " Trust me, sweet friend, though defeat
may attend him a while, though he may pass through trial and
suffering ere the goal be gained, Robert Bruce will eventually
deliver his country — will be her king, her savior — will raise
her in the scale of nations, to a level even with the highest,
noblest, most deserving. He is not lost to thee ; trial will but
prove his worth unto his countrymen even more than would
success."

" And how knowest thou ' these things, my Isabella ?" de-
manded Margaret, looking up in her face, with a half- playful,
half- sorrowful smile. " Hast thou the gift of prophecy ?"

" Prophecy !" repeated the countess, sadly. " Alas ! 'tis
but the character of Robert which hath inspired ray brighter

120 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

vision. Had I the gift of prophecy, ray fond heart would not
start and quiver thus, when it vainly strives to know the fate of
my only son. I, too, have anxiety, lady, though it find not
words."

" Thou hast, thou hast, indeed ; and yet I, weak, selfish as I
am, think only of myself. Stay by me, Isabella ; oh, do not
leave me, I am stronger by thy side."

It was growing darker and darker, and the hopes that, ere
night fell, new and more trustworthy intelligence of the move-
ments of the fugitives would be received were becoming fainter
and fainter on ^very heart. Voices were hushed to silence, or
spoke only in whispers. Half an hour passed thus, when the
listless suffering on the lovely face of Agnes was observed by
Isoline to change to an expression of intense attention.

" Hearest thou no step ?" she said, in a low, piercing whis-
per, and laying a cold and trembling hand on Isoline's arm.
" It is, it is his — it is Nigel's ; he has not fallen — he is spared !"
and she started up, a bright flush on her cheek, her hands
pressed convulsively on her heart.

" Nay, Agnes, there is no sound, 'tis but a fancy," but even
while she spoke, a rapid step was heard along the corridor, and
a shadow darkened the doorway — but was that Nigel ? There
was no plume, no proud crest on his helmet ; its vizor was still
closely barred, and a surcoat of coarse black stuff was thrown
over his armor, without any decoration to display or betray the
rank of the wearer. A faint cry of alarm broke from the queen
and many of her friends, but with one bound Agnes sprang to
the intruder, whose arms were open to receive her, and wildly
uttering " Nigel !" fainted on his bosom.

" And didst thou know me even thus, beloved ?" he mur-
mured, rapidly unclasping his helmet and dashing it from him,
to imprint repeated kisses on her cheek. " Wake, Agnes, best
beloved, my own sweet love ; what hadst thou heard that thou
art thus ? Oh, wake, smile, speak to me : 'tis thine own Nigel
calls."

And vainly, till that face smiled again on him in conscious-
ness, would the anxious inmates of that room have sought and
received intelligence, had he not been followed by Lord Douglas,
Fitz-Alan, and others, their armor and rank concealed as was
Nigel's, who gave the required information as eagerly as it was
desired.

THE DAYS OF BETJCE. 121

" Robert — my king, my husband — where is he — why is he
not here ?" reiterated Margaret, vainly seeking to distinguish
his figure amid the others, obscured as they were by the rapidly-
increasing darkness. " Why is he not with ye — why is he not
here ?"

" And he is here, Meg ; here to chide thy love as less pene-
trating, less able to read disguise or concealment than our gentle
Agnes there. Nay, weep not, dearest ; my hopes are as
strong, my purpose as unchanged, my trust in heaven as
fervent as it was when I went forth to battle. Trial and suffer-
ing must be mine a while, I have called it on my own head ;
but still, oh, still thy Robert shall deliver Scotland*— shall cast
aside her chains."

The deep, manly voice of the king acted like magic on the
depressed spirits of those around him ; and though there was
grief, bitter, bitter grief to tell, though many a heart's last lin-
gering hopes were crushed 'neath that fell certainty, which they
thought to have pictured during the hours of suspense, and
deemed themselves strengthened to endure, yet still 'twas a grief
that found vent in tears — grief that admitted of soothing, of
sympathy — grief time might heal, not the harrowing agony of
grief half told — hopes rising to be crushed.

Still did the Countess of Buchan cling to the massive arm of
the chair which Margaret had left, utterly powerless, wholly
incapacitated from asking the question on which her veiy life
seemed to depend. Not even the insensibility of her Agnes
had had the power to rouse her frorn the stupor of anxiety
which had spread over her, sharpening every faculty and feeling
indeed, but rooting her to the spot. Her boy, her Alan, he
was not amongst those warriors ; she heard not the beloved
accents of his voice ; she. saw not his boyish form — darkness
could not deceive her. Disguise would not prevent him, were
he amongst his companions, from seeking her embrace. One
word would end that anguish, would speak the worst, end jtr-
had he fallen !

The king looked round the group anxiously and inquir-

ingty-

" The Countess of Buchan ?" he said ; " where is our noble
friend ? she surely hath a voice to welcome her king, even
though he return to her defeated."

" Sirp, I am here," she said, but with difficulty ; and Robert,
6

122 THE DATS OF BKUCE.

as if he understood it, could read all she was enduring, hastened
towards her, and took both her cold hands in his.

" I give thee joy," he said, in accents that reassured her on
the instant. " Nobly, gallantly, hath thy patriot boy proved
himself thy son ; well and faithfully hath he won his spurs, and
raised the honor of his mother's olden line. He bade me greet
thee with all loving duty, and say he did but regret his wounds
that they prevented his attending me, and throwing himself at
his mother's feet."

" He is wounded, then, my liege ?" Robert felt her hands
tremble in his hold.

" It were cruel to deceive thee, lady— desperately but not
dangerously wounded. On the honor of a true knight, there
is naught to alarm, though something, perchance, to regret ; for
he pines and grieves that it may be yet a while ere he recover
sufficient strength to don his armor. It is not loss of blood,
but far more exhaustion, from the superhuman exertions that
he made. Edward and Alexander are with him ; the one a
faithful guard, in himself a host, the other no unskilful leech :
trust me, noble lady, there is naught to fear."

He spoke, evidently to give her time to recover the sudden
revulsion of feeling which his penetrating eye discovered had
nearly overpowered her, and he succeeded ; ere he ceased, that
quivering of frame and lip had passed, and Isabella of Buchan
again stood calm and firm, enabled to inquire all particulars of
her child, and then join in the council held as to the best plan
to be adopted with regard to the safety of the queen and her
companions.

In Scone, it was evident, they could not remain, for already
the towns and villages around, which had all declared for the
Bruce, were hurrying in the greatest terror to humble them-
selves before Pembroke, and entreat his interference in their
favor with his sovereign. There was little hope, even if Scone
remained faithful to his interests, that she would be enabled to
defend herself from the attacks of the English ; and it would
be equally certain, that if the wife of Bruce, and the wives
and daughters of so many of his loyal followers remained within
her walls, to obtain possession of their persons would become
Pembroke's first object. It remained to decide whether they
would accompany their sovereign to his mountain fastnesses,
and expose themselves to all the privations and hardships which

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 123

'i

would inevitably attend a wandering life, or that they should
depart under a safe escort to Norway, whose monarch was
friendly to the interests of Scotland. This latter scheme the
king very strongly advised, representing in vivid colors the
misery they might have to endure if they adhered to him ;
the continual danger of their falling into the hands of Edward,
and even could they elude this, how was it possible their deli-
cate frames, accustomed as they were to luxury and repose,
could sustain the rude fare, the roofless homes, the continued
wandering amid the crags and floods and deserts of the moun-
tains. He spoke eloquently and feelingly, and there was a brief
silence when he concluded. Margaret had thrown her arms
round her husband, and buried her face on his bosom ; her
child clung to her father's knee, and laid her soft cheek caress-
ingly by his. Isabella of Buchan, standing a little aloof, re-
mained silent indeed, but no one who gazed on her could doubt
her determination or believe she wavered. Agnes was stand-
ing in the same recess she had formerly occupied, but how
different was the expression of her features. The arm of Nigel
was twined round her, his head bent down to hers in deep and
earnest commune ; he was pleading against his own will and
feelings it seemed, and though he strove to answer every argu-
ment, to persuade her it was far better she should seek safety
in a foreign land, her determination more firmly expressed than
could have been supposed from her yielding disposition, to
abide with him, in weal or in woe, to share his wanderings, his
home, be it roofless on the mountain, or within palace walls ;
that she was a Highland girl, accustomed to mountain paths
and woody glens, nerved to hardship and toil — this determina-
tion, we say, contrary as it was to his eloquent pleadings, cer-
tainly afforded Nigel no pain, and might his beaming features
be taken as reply, it was fraught with unmingled pleasure. In
a much shorter time than we have taken to describe this, how-
ever, the queen had raised her head, and looking up in her
husband's face with an expression of devotedness, which gave
her countenance a charm it had never had before, fervently
exclaimed —

" Robert, come woe or weal, I will abide with thee ; her hus-
band's side is the best protection for a wife ; and if wandering
and suffering be his portion, who will soothe and cheer as the
wife of his love ? My spirit is but cowardly, iny will but weak ;

124 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

but by thee I may gain the strength which in foreign lands
could never be my own. Imaginary terrors, fancied horrors
would be worse, oh, how much worse than reality ! and when
we met again I should be still less worthy of thy love. No,
Robert, no ! urge me not, plead to me no more. My friends
may do as they will, but Margaret abides with thee."

" And who is there will pause, will hesitate, when their
queen hath spoken thus?" continued the Countess of Buchan,
in a tone that to Margaret's ear whispered approval and en-
couragement. " Surely, there is none here whose love for
their countiy is so weak, their loyalty to their sovereign of such
little worth, that at the first defeat, the first disappointment,
they would fly over seas for safety, and contentedly leave the
graves of their fathers, the hearths of their ancestors, the homes
of their childhood to be desecrated by the chains of a foreign
tyrant, by the footsteps of his hirelings? Oh, do not let us
waver ! Let us prove that though the arm of Avoman is weaker
than that of man, her spirit is as firm, her heart as true ; and
that privation, and suffering, and hardship encountered amid
the mountains of our land, the natural fastnesses of Scotland,
in company with our rightful king, our husbands, our children —
all, all, aye, death itself, were preferable to exile and separation.
Tis woman's part to gild, to bless, and make a home, and still,
still we may do this, though our ancestral homes be in the hands
of Edward. Scotland has still her sheltering breast for all her
children ; and shall we desert her now ?"

" No, no, no !" echoed from every side, enthusiasm kindling
with her wo is. "Better privation and danger in Scotland,
than safety and comfort elsewhere."

Nor was this the mere decision of the moment, founded on
its enthusiasm. The next morning found them equally firm,
equally determined ; even the weak and timid Margaret rose in
that hour of trial superior to herself, and preparations were
rapidly made for their departure. Nor were the prelates of
Scotland, who had remained at Scone during the king's engage-
ment, backward in encouraging and blessing their decision.
His duties prevented the Abbot of Scone accompanying them ;
but it was with deep regret he remained behind, not from any
fear of the English, for a warrior spirit lurked beneath those
episcopal robes, but from his deep reverence for the enterprise,
and love for the person of King Robert. He acceded to the

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 125

necessity of remaining in his abbey with the better grace, as he
fondly hoped to preserve the citizens in the good faith and
loyalty they had so nobly demonstrated. The Archbishop of
St. Andrew's and the Bishop of Glasgow determined on follow-
ing their sovereign to the death; and the spirit of Robert,
wounded as it had been, felt healed and soothed, and inspired
afresh, as the consciousness of his power over some true and
faithful hearts, of every grade and rank of either sex, became
yet more strongly proved in this hour of depression. He ceased
to speak of seeking refuge for his fair companions in another
land, their determination to abide with him, and their husbands
and sons, was too heartfelt, too unwavering, to allow of a hope
to change it ; and he well knew that their presence, instead of
increasing the cares and anxieties of his followers, would rather
lessen them, by shedding a spirit of chivalry even over the
weary wanderings he knew must be their portion for a while,
by gilding with the light of happier days the hours of darkness
that might surround them.

CHAPTER XII.

THE queen and her companions were conveyed in detach-
ments from the palace and town of Scone, the Bruce believing,
with justice, they would thus attract less notice, and be better
able to reach the mountains in safety. The Countess of Buchan,
her friend Lady Mary, Agnes, and Isoline, attended by Sir
Nigel, were the first to depart, for though she spoke it not, deep
anxiety was on the mother's heart for the fate of her boy.
They mostly left Scone at different hours of the night ; and the
second day from the king's arrival, the palace was untenanted,
all signs of the gallant court, which for a brief space had shed
such lustre, such rays of hope on the old town, were gone, and
sorrowfully and dispiritedly the burghers and citizens went about
their several occupations, for their hearts yet throbbed in loyalty
and patriotism, though hope they deemed was wholly at an end.
Still they burned with indignation at every intelligence of new
desertions to Edward, and though the power of Pembroke com-
pelled them to bend unwillingly to the yoke, it was as a bow

126 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

too tightly strung, which would snap rather than use its strength
in the cause of Edward.

A few weeks' good nursing from his mother and sister, at-
tended as it was by the kindness and warm friendship of the
sovereign he adored, and the constant care of Nigel, speedily
restored the heir of Buchan, if not entirely to his usual strength,
at least with sufficient to enable him to accompany the royal
wanderers wherever they pitched their tent, and by degrees join
in the adventurous excursions of his young companions to supply
them with provender, for on success in hunting entirely depended
their subsistence.

It was in itself a strange romance, the life they led. Fre-
quently the blue sky was their only covering, the purple heath
their only bed ; nor would the king fare better than his follow-
ers. Eagerly, indeed, the young men ever exerted themselves
to form tents or booths of brushwood, branches of trees, curi-
ously and tastefully interwoven with the wild flowers that so
luxuriantly adorned the rocks, for the accommodation of the
faithful companions who preferred this precarious existence with
them, to comfort, safety, and luxury in a foreign land. Nature,
indeed, lavishly supplied them with beautiful materials, and
where the will was good, exertion proved but a new enjoyment.
Couches and cushions of the softest moss formed alike seats
and places of repose ; by degrees almost a village of these primi-
tive dwellings would start into being, in the centre of some wild
rocks, which formed natural barriers around them, watered, per-
haps, by some pleasant brook rippling and gushing by in wild,
yet soothing music, gemmed by its varied flowers.

Here would be the rendezvous for some few weeks ; here
would Margaret and her companions rest a while from their
fatiguing wanderings ; and could they have thought but of the
present, they would have been completely happy. Here would
their faithful knights return laden with the spoils of the chase,
or with some gay tale of danger dared, encountered, and con-
quered ; here would the song send its full tone amid the re-
sponding echoes. The harp and muse of Nigel gave a refine-
ment and delicacy to these meetings, marking them, indeed., the
days of chivalry and poetry. Even Edward Bruce, tl-e stern,
harsh, dark, passioned warrior, even he felt the magic of the
hour, and now that the courage of Nigel had been proved, gave
willing ear, and would be among the first to bid him wake his

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 127

harp, and soothe the troubled visions of the hour ; and Robert,
who saw so much of his own soul reflected in his young brother,
mingled as it was with yet more impassioned fervor, more beau-
tiful, more endearing qualities, for Nigel had needed not trial
to purify his soul, and mark him out a patriot, Robert, in very
truth, loved him, and often would share with him his midnight
couch, his nightly watchings, that he might confide to that young
heart the despondency, the hopelessness, that to none other
might be spoken, none other might suspect — the secret fear
that his crime would be visited on his unhappy country, and he
forbidden to secure her freedom even by the sacrifice of his
life.

" If it be so, it must be so ; then be thou her savior, her de-
liverer, my Nigel," he would often urge ; " droop not because
I may have departed ; struggle on, do as thy soul prompts, and
success will, nay, must attend thee ; for thou art pure and spot-
less, and well deserving of all the glory, the blessedness, that
will attend the sovereign of our country freed from chains ;
thou art, in truth, deserving of all this, but I — "

"Peace, peace, my brother!" would be Nigel's answer;
" thou, only thou shalt deliver our country, shall be her free,
her patriot king ! Have we not often marked the glorious sun
struggling with the black masses of clouds which surround and
obscure his rising, struggling, and in vain, to penetrate their
murky folds, and deluge the world with light, shining a brief
moment, and then immersed in darkness, until, as he nears the
western horizon, the heaviest clouds flee before him, the spot-
less azure spreadeth its beautiful expanse, the brilliant rays dart
on every side, warming and cheering the whole earth with re-
viving beams, and finally sinking to his rest in a flood of splen-
dor, more dazzling, more imposing than ever attends his depar-
ture when his dawn hath been one of joy. Such is thy career,
my brother ; such will be thy glorious fate. Oh, droop not
even to me — to thyself! Hope on, strive on, and thou shalt
succeed !"

" Would I had thy hopeful spirit, my Nigel, an it pictured
and believed things as these !" mournfully would the Bruce
reply, and clasp the young warrior to his heart ; but it was
only Nigel's ear that heard these whispers of despondency, only
Nigel's eye which could penetrate the inmost folds of that royal
heart. Not even to his wife — his Margaret, whose faithfulness

128 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

in these hours of adversity had drawn her yet closer to her
husband — did he breathe, aught save encouragement and hope ;
and to his followers he was the same as he had been from the
first, resolute, unwavering; triumphing over every obstacle;
cheering the faint-hearted; encouraging the desponding; smiling
with his young followers, ever on the alert to provide amuse-
ment for them, to approve, guide, instruct; gallantly and kind-
ly to smooth the path for his female companions, joining in
every accommodation for them, even giving his manual labor
with the lowest of his followers, if his aid would lessen fatigue,
or more quickly enhance comfort. And often and often in the
little encampment we have Described, when night fell, and war-
rior and dame would assemble, in various picturesque groups,
on the grassy mound, the king, seated in the midst of them,
would read aloud, and divert even the most wearied frame and
careworn mind by the stirring scenes and chivalric feelings his
MSS. recorded. The talent of deciphering manuscripts, indeed
of reading any thing, was one seldom attained or even sought
for in the age of which we treat ; the sword and spear were
alike the recreation and the business of the nobles. Reading
and writing were in general confined to monks, and the other
clergy ; but Robert, even as his brother Nigel, possessed both
these accomplishments, although to the former their value never
seemed so fully known as in his wanderings. His readings were
diversified by rude narratives or tales, which he demanded in
return from his companions, and many a hearty laugh would
resound from the woodland glades, at the characteristic humor
with which these demands were complied with : the dance, too,
would diversify these meetings. A night of repose might per-
haps succeed, to be disturbed at its close by a cause for alarm,
and those pleasant resting-places must be abandoned, the hap-
py party be divided, and scattered far and wide, to encounter
fatigue, danger, perchance even death, ere they met again.

Yet still they drooped not, murmured not. No voice was
ever heard to wish the king's advice had been taken, and they
had sought refuge in Norway. Not even Margaret breathed
one sigh, dropped one tear, in her husband's presence, although
many were the times that she would have sunk from exhaustion,
had not Isabella of Buchan been near as her guardian angel to
revive, encourage, infuse a portion of her own spirit in the
weaker heart, which so confidingly clung to her. The youngest

THE DATS OF BKUCE. 129

and most timid maiden, the oldest and most ailing man, still
maintained the same patriotic spirit and resolute devotion which
had upheld them at first. " The Bruce and Scotland" were the
words imprinted on their souls, endowed with a power to awake
the sinking heart, and rouse the fainting frame.

To Agnes and Nigel, it was shrewdly suspected, these wan-
derings in the centre of magnificent nature, their hearts open
to each other, revelling in the scenes around them, were sea-
sons of unalloyed enjoyment, happiness more perfect than the
state and restraint of a court. Precarious, indeed, it was, but
even in moments of danger they were not parted ; for Nigel
was ever the escort of the Countess of Buchan, and danger by
his side lost half its terror to Agnes. He left her side but to
return to it covered with laurels, unharmed, uninjured, even
in the midst of foes ; and so frequently did this occur, that
the fond, confiding spirit of the young Agnes folded itself
around the belief that he bore a charmed life ; that evil and
death could not injure one so faultless and beloved. Their love
grew stronger with each passing week ; for nature, beautiful
nature, is surely the field of that interchange of thought, for
that silent commune of soul so dear to those that love. The
simplest flower, the gushing brooks, the frowning hills, the va-
ried hues attending the rising and the setting of the sun, all
were turned to poetry when the lips of Nigel spoke to the ears
of love. The mind of Agnes expanded before these rich com-
munings. She was so young, so guileless, her character mould-
ed itself on his. She learned yet more to comprehend, to ap-
preciate the nobility of his soul, to cling yet closer to him, as
the consciousness of the rich treasure she possessed in his love
became more and more unfolded to her view. The natural fear-
fulness of her disposition gave way, and the firmness, the en-
thusiasm of purpose, took possession of her heart, secretly and
silently, indeed; for to all, save to herself, she was the same
gentle, timid, clinging girl that she had ever been.

So passed the summer months ; but as winter approached,
and the prospects of the king remained as apparently hope-
less and gloomy as they were on his first taking refuge in the
mountains, it was soon pretty evident that some other plan
must be resorted to ; for strong as the resolution might be, the
delicate frames of his female companions, already suffering from
the privations to which they had been exposed, could not sus-

6*

130 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

tain the intense cold and heavy snows peculiar to the mountaia
region. Gallantly as the king had borne himself in every en-
counter with the English and Anglo -Scots, sustaining with un-
exampled heroism repeated defeats and blighted hopes, driven
from one mountainous district by the fierce opposition of its
inhabitants, from another by a cessation of supplies, till famine
absolutely threatened, closely followed by its grim attendant,
disease, all his efforts to collect and inspire his countrymen
with his own spirit, his own hope, were utterly and entirely
fruitless, for his enemies appeared to increase around him, the
autumn found him as far, if not further, from the successful
termination of his desires than he had been at first.

All Scotland lay at the feet of his foe. John of Lorn, ma-
ternally related to the slain Red Comyn, had collected his forces
to the number of a thousand, and effectually blockaded his
progress through the district of Breadalbane, to which he had
retreated from a superior body of English, driving him to a
narrow pass in the mountains, where the Brucc's cavalry had
no power to be of service ; and had it not been for the king's
extraordinary exertions in guarding the rear, and there checking
the desperate fury of the assailants, and interrupting their head-
long pursuit of the fugitives, by a strength, activity, and prudence,
that in these days would seem incredible, the patriots must have
been cut off to a man. Here it was that the family of Lorn
obtained possession of that brooch of Bruce, which even to
this day is preserved as a relic, and lauded as a triumph, prov-
ing how nearly their redoubted enemy had fallen into their
hands. Similar struggles had marked his progress through
the mountains ever since the defeat of Methven ; but vain was
every effort of his foes to obtain possession of his person, de-
stroy his energy, and thus frustrate his purpose. Perth, Inver-
ness, Argyle, and Aberdeen had alternately been the scene of
his wanderings. The middle of autumn found him with about
a hundred followers, amongst whom were the Countess of
Buchan and her son, amid the mountains which divide Kincar-
dine from the southwest boundary of Aberdeen. The remain-
der of his officers and men, divided into small bands, each with
some of their female companions under their especial charge,
were scattered over the different districts, as better adapted to
concealment and rest.

It was that part of the year when day gives place to

THE DATS OF BKTJCE. 131

night so suddenly, that the sober calm of twilight even appears
denied to us. The streams rushed by, turbid and swollen from
the heavy autumnal rains. A rude wind had robbed most of
the trees of their foliage ; the sere and withered leaves, indeed,
yet remained on the boughs, beautiful even in their decay, but
the slightest breath would carry them away from their resting-
places, and the mountain passes were incumbered, and often
slippery from the fallen leaves. The mountains looked frown-
ing and bare, the pine and fir bent and rocked in their craggy
cradles, and the wind moaned through their dark branches
sadly and painfully. The sun had, indeed, shone fitfully
through the day, but still the scene was one of melancholy
desolation, and the heart of the Countess of Buchan, bold and
firm in general, could not successfully resist the influence of
Nature's sadness. She sat comparatively alone ; a covering
had, indeed, been thrown over some thick poles, which inter-
wove with brushwood, and with a seat and couch of heather,
which was still in flower, formed a rude tent, and was destined
for her repose ; but until night's dark mantle was fully unfurl-
ed, she had preferred the natural seat of a jutting crag, shel-
tered from the wind by an overhanging rock and some spread-
ing firs. Her companions were scattered in different directions
in search of food, as was their wont. Some ten or fifteen men
had been left with her, and they were dispersed about the
mountain collecting firewood, and a supply of heath and moss
for the night encampment ; within hail, indeed, but scarcely
within sight, for the space where the countess sate commanded
little more than protruding crags and stunted trees, and mount-
ains lifting their dark, bare brows to the starless sky.

It was not fear which had usurped dominion in the Lady
Isabella's heart, it Avas that heavy, sluggish, indefinable weight
which sometimes clogs the spirit we know not wherefore, until
some event following quick upon it forces us, even against our
will, to believe it the overhanging shadow of the future which
had darkened the present. She was sad, very sad, yet she
could not, as was ever her custom, bring that sadness to judg-
ment, and impartially examining and determining its cause, re-
move it if possible, or banish it resolutely from her thoughts.

An impulse indefinable, yet impossible to be resisted, had
caused her to intrust her Agnes to the care of Lady Mary and
Nigel, and compelled her to follow her son, who had been the

132 THE DAYS OF BKDCE.

chosen companion of the king. Rigidly, sternly, she had ques-
tioned her own heart as to the motives of this decision. It was
nothing new her accompanying her son, for she had invariably
done so ; but it was something unusual her being separated
from the queen, and though her heart told her that her motives
were so upright, so pure, they could have borne the sternest
scrutiny, there was naught which the most rigid mentor could
condemn, yet a feeling that evil would come of this was
amongst the many others which weighed on her heart. She
could not tell wherefore, yet she wished it had been otherwise,
wished the honor of being selected as the king's companion had
fallen on other than her son, for separate herself from him she
could not. One cause of this despondency might have been
traced to the natural sinking of the spirit when it finds itself
alone, with time for its own fancies, after a long period of exer-
tion, and that mental excitement which, unseen to all outward
observers, preys upon itself. Memory had awakened dreams
and visions she had long looked upon as dead ; it did but pic-
ture brightly, beautifully, joyously what might have been, and
disturbed the tranquil sadness which was usual to her now ;
disturb it as with phantasmagoria dancing on the brain, yet it
was a struggle hard and fierce to banish them again. As one
sweet fancy sunk another rose, even as gleams of moonlight on
the waves which rise and fall with every breeze. Fancy and
reason strove for dominion, but the latter conquered. What
could be now the past, save as a vision of the night ; the pres-
ent, a stern reality with all its duties — duties not alone to oth-
ers, but to herself. These were the things on which her
thoughts must dwell ; these must banish all which might have
been, and they did ; and Isabella of Buchan came through that
fiery ordeal unscathed, uninjured in her self-esteem, conscious •
that not in one thought did she wrong her husband, in not one
dream did she wrong the gentle heart of the queen which so
clung to her ; in not the wildest flight of fancy did she look on
Robert as aught save as the deliverer of his country, the king
of all true Scottish men.

She rose up from that weakness of suffering, strengthened in
her resolve to use every energy in the queen's service in sup-
porting, encouraging, endeavoring so to work on her apprecia-
tion of her husband's character, as to render her yet more
worthy of his love. She had ever sought to remain beside the

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 133

queen, ever contrived they should be of the same party ; that
her mind was ever on the stretch, on the excitement, could not
be denied, but she knew not how great its extent till the call
for exertion was comparatively over, and she found herself, she
scarcely understood how, the only female companion of her
sovereign, the situation she had most dreaded, most determined
to avoid. While engaged in the performance of her arduous
task, the schooling her own heart and devoting herself to Rob-
ert's wife, virtue seemed to have had its own reward, for a new
spirit had entwined her whole being — excitement, internal as it
was, had given a glow to thought and action ; but in her pres-
ent solitude the reaction of spirit fell upon her as a dull, slug-
gish weight of lead. She had suffered, too, from both privation
and fatigue, and she was aware her strength was failing, and
this perhaps was another cause of her depression ; but be that
as it may, darkness closed round her unobserved, and when
startled by some sudden sound, she raised her head from her
hands, she could scarcely discern one object from another in
the density of gloom.

" Surely night has come suddenly upon us," she said, half
aloud ; " it is strange they have not yet returned," and rising,
she was about seeking the tent prepared for her, when a rude
grasp was laid on her arm, and a harsh, unknown voice uttered,
in suppressed accents —

" Not so fast, fair mistress, not so fast ! My way does not
lie in that direction, and, with your leave, my way is yours."

" How, man ! fellow, detain me at your peril !" answered the
countess, sternly, permitting no trace of terror to falter in her
voice, although a drawn sword gleamed by her side, and a gi-
gantic form fully armed had grasped her arm. " Unhand me,
or I will summon those that will force thee. I am not alone,
and bethink thee, insult to me will pass not with impunity."

The man laughed scornfully. " Boldly answered, fair one,"
he said ; " of a truth thou art a brave one. I grieve such an
office should descend upon me as the detention of so stout a
heart ; yet even so. In King Edward's name, you are my
prisoner."

" Your prisoner, and wherefore ?" demanded the countess
believing that calmness would be a better protection than an)
symptoms of fear. " You are mistaken, good friend, I knew
not Edward warred with women."

134 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

"Prove my mistake, fair mistress, and I will crave your
• pardon," replied the man. " We have certain intelligence that
a party of Scottish rebels, their quondam king perhaps among
them, are hidden in these mountains. Give us trusty news of
their movements, show us their track, and Edward will hold
you in high favor, and grant liberty and rich presents in excuse
of his servant's too great vigilance. Hearest thou, what is the
track of these rebels — what their movements ?"

" Thou art a sorry fool, Murdock," retorted another voice,
ere the countess could reply, and hastily glancing around, she
beheld herself surrounded by armed men ; " a sorry fool, an
thou wastest the precious darkness thus. Is not one rank rebel
sufficient, think you, to satisfy our lord ? he will get intelligc nee
enough out of her, be sure. Isabella of Buchan is not fool
enough to hold parley with such as we, rely on't."

A suppressed exclamation of exultation answered the utter-
ance of that name, and without further parley the arms of the
countess were strongly pinioned, and with the quickness of
thought the man who had first spoken raised her in his arms,
and bore her through the thickest brushwood and wildest crags
in quite the contrary direction to the encampment ; their move-
ments accelerated by the fact that, ere her arms were confined,
the countess, with admirable presence of mind, had raised to
her lips a silver whistle attached to her girdle, and blown a
shrill, distinct blast. A moment sufficed to rudely tear it from
her hand, and hurry her off as we have said ; and when that
call was answered, which it was as soon as the men scattered
on the mountain sufficiently recognized the sound, they flung
down their tools and sprung to the side whence it came, but
there was no sign, no trace of her they sought ; they scoured
with lighted torches every mossy path or craggy slope, but in
vain ; places of concealment were too numerous, the darkness
too intense, save just the space illumined by the torch, to per-
mit, success. The trampling of horses announced the return of
the king and his companions, ere their search was concluded ;
his bugle summoned the stragglers, and speedily the loss of the
countess was ascertained, their fruitless search narrated, and
anxiety and alarm spread over the minds of all. The agony of
the youthful Alan surpassed description, even the efforts of his
sovereign failed to calm him. Nor was the Bruce himself much
less agitated.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 135

" She did wrong, she did wrong," he said, " to leave herself
so long unguarded ; yet who was there to commit this outrage ?
There is some treachery here, which we must sift ; we must
not leave our noble countrywoman in the hands of these marau-
ders. Trust me, Alan, we shall recover her yet."

But the night promised ill for the fulfilment of this trust.
Many hours passed in an utterly fruitless search, and about one
hour before midnight a thick fog increased the dense gloom,
and even prevented all assistance from the torches, for not ten
yards before them was distinguishable. Dispirited and disap-
pointed, the king and his companions threw themselves around
the watchfires, in gloomy meditation, starting at the smallest
sound, and determined to renew their search with the first gleam
of dawn ; the hurried pace of Alan, as he strode up and down,
for he could not rest, alone disturbing the stillness all around.

CHAPTER XIII.

IT Avas already two hours after midnight when a hurried
tread, distinct from Alan's restless pacing, disturbed the watch-
ers, and occasioned many to raise themselves on their elbows
and listen.

It came nearer and nearer, and very soon a young lad, recog-
nized as Sir Alan's page, was discerned, springing from crag to
crag in breathless haste, and finally threw himself at his sove-
reign's feet.

"It is not too late — up, up, and save her!" were the only
words he had power to gasp, panting painfully for the breath
of which speed had deprived him. His hair and dress were
heavy with the damp occasioned by the fog, and his whole
appearance denoting no common agitation.

" Where ?" " How ?" " What knowest thou ?" " Speak
out." " What ailest thee, boy ?" were the eager words uttered
at once by all, and the king and others sprung to their feet,
while Alan laid a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder, and glared
on him in silence ; the lad's glance fell beneath his, and he
sobbed forth —

" Mercy, mercy ! my thoughtlessness has done this, yet I

136 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

guessed not, dreamed not this ill would follow. But, oh, do
not wait for my tale now ; up, up, and save her ere it be too
late !"

" And how may we trust thee now, an this is the effect of
former treachery ?" demanded Robert, with a sternness that
seemed to awe the terrified boy into composure.

" I am not treacherous, sire. No, no ! I would have exposed
my throat to your grace's sword rather than do a traitor's deed :
trust me, oh, trust me, and follow without delay !"

" Speak first, and clearly," answered Alan, fiercely ; " even
for my mother's sake the sacred person of the King of Scotland
shall not be risked by a craven's word. Speak, an thou wouldst
bid me trust thee — speak, I charge thee."

" He is right — he is right ; let him explain this mystery ere
we follow," echoed round ; and thus urged, the boy's tale was
hurriedly told.

It was simply this. Some days previous, when wandering
alone about the rocks, he had met a woodman, whom he recog-
nized as one of the retainers of Buchan, and, as such, believed
him as loyal and faithful to King Robert's interest as himself
and others in the countess's train. The man had artfully evaded
all young Malcolm's expression of astonishment and inquiries
as to why Donald Mac Alpine, whom he well knew to be one
of the stoutest and most sturdy men-at-arms which the clan
possessed, should have taken to so peaceful an employment as
cutting wood, and skilfully drew from the boy much informa-
tion concerning the movements of the party to whom he
belonged. Malcolm freely spoke of Sir Alan and the Countess
of Buchan, dilating with no little pleasure on his young master
having received knighthood at the hand of his king, and all the
honors and delights which accompanied it. Aware, however,
of the dangers which environed the Bruce, he spoke of him
more cautiously, and the more Donald sought to discover if the
king were near at hand, the more carefully did Malcolm con-
ceal that he was, telling the woodman if he wished to know all
particulars, he had better turn his sickle into a spear, his cap
into a helmet, and strike a good blow for Scotland and King-
Robert. This the man refused to do, alleging he loved his own
sturdy person and independent freedom too well to run his neck
into such a noose ; that King Robert might do very well for a
while, but eventually he must fall into King Edward's hands.

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 137

Malcolm angrily denied this, and they parted, not the best
friends imaginable. On reviewing all that had passed, the boy
reproached himself incessantly for having said too much, and
was continually tormented by an indefinable fear that some
evil would follow. This fear kept him by the side of the count-
ess, instead of, as was 'his wont, following Sir Alan to the
chase. The increasing darkness had concealed her from him,
but he was the first to distinguish her whistle. He had reached
the spot time enough to recognize the supposed woodman in
the second speaker, and to feel with painful acuteness his boy-
ish thoughtlessness had brought this evil on a mistress, to serve
whom he would willingly have laid down his life. Resistance
he knew, on his part, was utterly useless, and therefore he
determined to follow their track, and thus bring accurate intel-
ligence to the king. The minds of the men preoccupied by
the thought of their distinguished prisoner, and the thickening
gloom, aided his resolution. Happening to have a quantity of
thick flax in his pocket, the boy, with admirable foresight, fast-
ened it to different shrubs and stones as he passed, and thus
secured his safe return ; a precaution veiy necessary, as from
the windings and declivities, and in parts well-nigh impregnable
hollows, into which he followed the men, his return in time
would have been utterly frustrated.

The gathering mist had occasioned a halt, and a consultation
as to whether they could reach the encampment to which they
belonged, or whether it would not be better to halt till dawn.
They had decided in favor of the latter, fearing, did they con-
tinue marching, they might lose their track, and perhaps fall
in with the foe. He had waited, he said, till he saw them
making such evident preparations for a halt of some hours, that
he felt certain they would not remove till daylight. It was a
difficult and precarious path, he said, yet he was quite sure he
could lead fifteen or twenty men easily to the spot, and, taken
by surprise, nothing would prevent the recovery of the count-
ess : less than two hours would take them there.

This tale was told in less time than we have taken to tran-
scribe it, and not twenty minutes after Malcolm's first appear-
ance, the king and Sir Alan, with fifteen tried followers,
departed on their expedition. There had been some attempt
to dissuade the king from venturing his own person where fur-
ther treachery might yet lurk, but the attempt was vain.

138 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

" She has perilled her life for me," was his sole answer,
" and were there any real peril, mine would be hazarded for
her ; but there is none — 'tis but a child's work we are about to
do, not even glory enough to call for envy."

The foo- had sufficiently cleared to permit of their distinguish-
ing the route marked out by Malcolm, but not enough to betray
their advance, even had there been scouts set to watch the pass.
Not a word passed between them. Rapidly, stealthily they
advanced, and about three in the morning stood within sight of
their foes, though still unseen themselves. There was little
appearance of caution : two large fires had been kindled, round
one of which ten or twelve men were stretched their full length,
still armed indeed, and their hands clasping their unsheathed
swords, but their senses fast locked in slumber. Near the
other, her arms and feet pinioned, Alan, with a heart beating
almost audibly Avith indignation, recognized his mother. Two
men, armed with clubs, walked up and down beside her, and
seven others were grouped in various attitudes at her feet, most
of them fast asleep. It was evident that they had no idea of
surprise, and that their only fear was associated with the escape
of their prisoner.

" They are little more than man to man," said the Bruce ;
" therefore is there no need for further surprise than will attend
the blast of your bugle, Sir Alan. Sound the reveille, and on
to the rescue."

He was obeyed, and the slumberers, with suppressed oaths,
started to their feet, glancing around them a brief minute in
inquiring astonishment as to whence the sound came. It was
speedily explained : man after man sprang through the thicket,
and rushed upon the foes, several of whom, gathering them-
selves around their prisoner, seemed determined that her liberty
should not be attained with her life, more than once causing
the swords of the Bruce's followers to turn aside in their rapid
descent, less they should injure her they sought to save. Like
a young lion Alan fought, ably seconded by the king, whose
gigantic efforts clearing his path, at length enabled himself and
Alan to stand uninjured beside the countess, and thus obtain
possession of her person, and guard her from the injury to
which her captors voluntarily exposed her. There was at first
no attempt at flight, although the Bruce's men carried all
before them ; the men fell where they stood, till only five re-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 139

mained, and these, after a moment's hesitation, turned and fled.
A shrill cry from Malcolm had turned the king's and Alan's
attention in another direction, and it was well they did so.
Determined on foiling the efforts of his foes, Donald MacAlpine,
who was supposed to be among the fallen, had stealthily ap-
proached the spot where the countess, overcome with excessive
faintness, still reclined, then noiselessly rising, his sword was
descending on her unguarded head, when Alan, aroused by
Malcolm's voice, turned upon him and dashed his weapon from
his grasp, at the same minute that the Bruce's sword pierced
the traitor's heart : he sprung in the air with a loud yell of
agony, and fell, nearly crushing the countess with his weight.

It was the voice of Alan which aroused that fainting heart.
It was in the bosom of her son those tearful eyes were hid,
after one startled and bewildered gaze on the countenance of
her sovereign, Avho had been leaning over her in unfeigned
anxiety. A thicket of thorn, mingled with crags, divided her
from the unseemly signs of the late affray ; but though there
was naught to renew alarm, it was with a cold shudder she
had clung to her son, as if even her firm, bold spirit had given
way. Gently, cheeringly the king addressed her, and she evi-
dently struggled to regain composure ; but her powers of body
were evidently so prostrated, that her friends felt rest of some
kind she must have, ere she could regain sufficient strength to
accompany them on their wanderings. She had received three
or four wounds in the m&lee, which though slight, the loss of
blood that had followed materially increased her weakness, and
the king anxiously summoned his friends around him to delib-
erate on the best measures to pursue.'

Amongst them were two of Sir Alan's retainers, old and
faithful Scottish men, coeval with his grandfather, the late
Earl of Buchan. Devoted alike to the countess, the king, and
their country, they eagerly listened to all that was passing, de-
claring that rather than leave the Lady Isabella in a situation
of such danger as the present, they would take it by turns to
carry her in their arms to the encampment. The king listened
with a benevolent smile.

" Is there no hut or house, or hunting-lodge to which we
could convey your lady," he asked, " where she might find
quieter shelter and greater rest than hitherto ? An ye knew
of such, it would be the wiser plan to seek it at break of day."

140 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

A hunting-lodge, belonging to the Earls of Buchan, there
was, or ought to be, the old men said, near the head of the
Tay, just at the entrance of Athol Forest. It had not been
used since their old master's days ; he had been very partial
to it when a boy, and was continually there ; it had most likely
fallen into decay from disuse, as they believed the present earl
did not even know of its existence, but that was all the better,
as it would be a stil^ more safe and secure retreat for the
countess, and they were sure, when once out of the hollows and
intricacies of their present halting-place, they could easily dis-
cover the path to it.

And how long did they think it would be, the king in-
quired, before their lady could be taken to it ? the sooner,
they must perceive as well as himself, the better for her com-
fort. He was relieved when they declared that two days, or at
the very utmost three, would bring them there, if, as the old
men earnestly entreated he would, they retraced their steps to
the encampment as soon as daylight was sufficiently strong for
them clearly to distinguish their path. This was unanimously
resolved on, and the few intervening hours were spent by the
countess in calm repose.

Conscious that filial affection watched over her, the sleep of
the countess tranquillized her sufficiently to commence the re-
turn to the encampment with less painful evidences of exhaus-
tion. A rude litter waited for her, in which she could recline
when the pass allowed its safe passage, and which could be
easily borne by the bearers when the intricacies of the path
prevented all egress save by pedestrianism. It had been hur-
riedly made by her devoted adherents, and soothed and grati-
fied, her usual energy seemed for the moment to return. By
nine o'clock forenoon all traces of the Bruce and his party had
departed from the glen, the last gleam of their armor was lost
in the winding path, and then it was that a man, who had lain
concealed in a thicket from the moment of the affray, hearing
all that had passed, unseen himself, now slowly, cautiously
raised himself on his knees, gazed carefully round him, then
with a quicker but as silent motion sprung to his feet, and
raised his hands in an action of triumph.

" He is amongst them, then," he muttered, " the traitor
Bruce himself. This is well. The countess, her son, and
the would-be king — .ha ! ha ! My fortune's made !" and he

TIIE DATS OF BKt'CE. 141

bounded away in quite a contrary direction to that taken by
the Bruce.

The old retainers of Buchan were correct in their surmises.
The evening of the second day succeeding the event we have
narrated brought them to the hunting-lodge. It was indeed
very old, and parts had fallen almost to ruins, but there were
still three or four rooms remaining, whose compact walls and
well-closed roofs rendered them a warm and welcome refuge
for the Countess of Buchan, whose strenuous exertions the two
preceding days had ended, as was expected, by exhaustion
more painful and overpowering than before.

The exertions of her friends — for the Bruce and his follow-
ers with one consent had permitted their wanderings to be
guided by the old men — speedily rendered the apartments hab-
itable. Large fires were soon blazing on the spacious hearths,
and ere night fell, all appearance of damp and discomfort had
vanished. The frugal supper was that night a jovial meal ;
the very look of a cheerful blaze beneath a walled roof was re-
viving to the wanderers ; the jest passed round, the wine-cup
sparkled to the health of the countess, and many a fervent as-
piration echoed round for the speedy restoration of her strength ;
for truly she was the beloved, the venerated of all, alike from
her sovereign to his lowest follower.

" Trust my experience, my young knight," had been the
Bruce's address to Alan ere they parted for the night. " A
few days' complete repose will quite restore your valued parent
and my most honored friend. This hunting-lodge shall be our
place of rendezvous for a time, till she is sufficiently restored
to accompany us southward. You are satisfied, are you not,
with the diligence of our scouts ?"

" Perfectly, your highness," was Alan's reply ; for well-tried
and intelligent men had been sent in every direction to discover,
if possible, to what party of the enemy the captors of the Lady
Isabella belonged, and to note well the movements and ap-
pearance, not only of any martial force, but of the country
people themselves. They had executed their mission as well
as the intricate passes -and concealed hollows of the mountains
permitted, and brought back the welcome intelligence, that for
miles round the country was perfectly clear, and to all appear-
ance peaceful. The hunting-lodge, too, was so completely
hidden by dark woods of pine and overhanging crags, that

142 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

even had there been foes prowling about the mountains, they
might pass within twenty yards of its vicinity and yet fail to
discover it. The very path leading to the bottom of the hol-
low in which it stood was concealed at the entrance by thick
shrubs and an arch of rock, which had either fallen naturally
into that shape, or been formed by the architects of the lodge.
It seemed barely possible that the retreat could be discovered,
except by the basest treachery, and therefore the king and Sir
Alan felt perfectly at rest regarding the safety of the countess,
even though they could only leave with her a guard of some
twenty or thirty men.

So much was she refreshed the following morning, that the
hopes of her son brightened, and with that filial devotion so
peculiarly his characteristic, he easily obtained leave of absence
from his sovereign, to remain by the couch of his mother for
at least that day, instead of accompanying him, as was his
wont, in the expeditions of the day. The countess combated
this decision, but in vain. Alan was resolved. He was con-
vinced, he said, her former capture, and all its ill consequences,
would not have taken place had he been by her side ; and even
were she not now exposed to such indignity, she would be
lonely and sad without him, and stay, in consequence, he
would. The king and his officers approved of the youth's res-
olution, and reluctantly Isabella yielded.

About two hours before noon the Bruce and his companions
departed, desiring Sir Alan not to expect their return till near
midnight, as they intended penetrating a part of the country
which had not yet been explored ; they might be a few hours
sooner, but they scarcely expected it. It was afterwards re-
membered that a peculiar expression of sadness overclouded
the countenance of the countess, as for a moment she fixed her
speaking eyes on the king's face when he cheerfully bade her
farewell, and said, in a low emphatic voice —

" Farewell, sire ! It may be the hour of meeting is longer
deferred than we either of us now believe. Fain would I be-
seech your grace to grant me one boon, make me but one prom-
ise ere you depart."

" Any boon, any promise that our faithful friend and sub-
ject can demand, is granted ere 'tis asked," answered the king,
without a moment's pause, though startled alike at the expres-
sion of her features and t]ie sadness of her voice. " Gladly

THE DATS OF BEUCE. 143

would we give any pledge that could in any way bespeak our
warm sense of thy true merit, lady, therefore speak, and fear
not."

" 'Tis simply this, sire," she said, and her voice was still
mournful, despite her every effort to prevent its being so.
" Should unforeseen evil befall me, captivity, danger of death,
or aught undreamed of now, give me your royal word as a
knight and king, that you will not peril your sacred person,
and with it the weal and liberty of our unhappy country, for
my sake, but leave me to my fate ; 'tis a strange and fanciful
boon, yet, gracious sovereign, refuse it not. I mean not treach-
ery such as we have encountered, where your grace's noble
gallantry rescued me witli little peril to yourself. No ; I mean
other and greater danger ; where I well know that rather than
leave me exposed to the wrath of my husband and Edward of
England, you would risk your own precious life, and with it
the liberty of Scotland. Grant me this boon, my liege, and
perchance this heavy weight upon my spirit will pass and
leave me free."

" Nay, 'tis such a strange and unknightly promise, lady,
how may I pledge my word to its fulfilment ?" answered Rob-
ert, gravely and sadly. " You bid me pledge mine honor to a
deed that will stain my name with an everlasting infamy, that
even the liberty of Scotland will not wash away. How may I
do this thing ? You press me sorely, lady. Even for thee,
good and faithful as thou art, how may I hurt my knightly
fame ?"

" Sire, thou wilt not," she returned, still more entreatingly ;
" thy brilliant fame, thy noble name, will never — can never, re-
ceive a stain. I do but ask a promise whose fulfilment may
never be demanded. I do but bid thee remember thou art not
only a knight, a noble, a king, but one by whom the preserva-
tion, the independence of our country can alone be achieved —
one on whose safety and freedom depends the welfare of n na-
tion, the unchained glory of her sons. Were death thy por-
tion, Scotland lies a slave forever at the feet of England, and
therefore is it I do beseech thee, King of Scotland, make me
this pledge. I know thy noble spirit well, and I know thy too
chivalric honor would blind thee to a sense of danger, to a
sense of country, duty, glory, of all save the rescue of one who,
though she be faithful to thee and to her country, is but as a

144: THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

drop of water in the ocean, compared to other claims. My
liege, thy word is already in part pledged," -she continued,
more proudly. " Any pledge or promise I might demand is
granted ere it is asked, your highness deigned to say ; thou
canst not retract it now."

" And wherefore shouldst thou, royal brother ?" cheeringly
interrupted Alexander Bruce. " The Lady Isabella asks not
unreasonably ; she does but suggest what may be, although
that may be is, as we all know, next to impossible, particularly
now when nature has fortified this pleasant lodge even as would
a garrison of some hundred men. Come, be not so churlish in
thy favors, good my liege ; give her the pledge she demands,
and be sure its fulfilment will never be required."

" Could I but think so," he replied, still gravely. " Lady, I
do entreat thee, tell me wherefore thou demandest this strange
boon ; fearest thou evil — dreamest thou aught of danger hover-
ing near ? If so, as there is a God in heaven, I will not go
forth to-day!"

"Pardon me, gracious sovereign," answered Isabella, eva-
sively ; " I ask it, because since the late adventure there has
been a weight upon my spirit as if I, impotent, of little conse-
quence as I am, yet even I might be the means of hurling
down evil on thy head, and through thee on Scotland ; and,
therefore, until thy promise to the effect I have specified is
given, I cannot, I will not rest — even though, as Lord Alex-
ander justly believes, its fulfilment will never be required.
Evil here, my liege, trust me, cannot be ; therefore go forth
in confidence. I fear not to await your return, e'en should I
linger here alone. Grant but my boon."

" Nay, an it must be, lady, I promise all thou demandest,"
answered Bruce, more cheerfully, for her words reassured him ;
" but, by mine honor, thou hast asked neither well nor kindly.
Remember, my pledge is passed but for real danger, and that
only for Scotland's sake, not for mine own ; and now farewell,
lady. I trust, ere we meet again, these depressing fancies will
have left thee."

" They have well-nigh departed now, my liege ; 'twas
simply for thee and Scotland these heavy bodings oppressed
me. My son," she added, after a brief pause, " I would your
highness could prevail on him to accompany you to-day.
Wherefore should he stay with me ?"

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 145

" Wherefore not rather, lady ?" replied the king, smiling.
" I may not leave thee to thine own thoughts to weave fresh
boons like to the last. No, no ! our young knight must guard
thee till we meet again," and with these words he departed.
They did not, however, deter the countess from resuming her
persuasions to Alan to accompany his sovereign, but without
success. Isabella of Buchan had, however, in this instance de-
parted from her usual strict adherence to the truth ; she did
not feel so secure that no evil would befall her in the absence
of the Bruce, as she had endeavored to make him believe.

Some words she had caught during her brief captivity caused
her, she scarcely knew why, to believe that the Earl of Buchan
himself was in the neighborhood ; nay, that the very party
which had captured her were members of the army under his
command. She had gathered, too, that it was a very much
larger force than the king's, and therefore it was that she had
made no objection to Robert's wish that she should rest some
few days in the hunting-lodge. She knew that, however her
failing strength might detain and harass their movements,
Bruce and his followers would never consent to leave her, un-
less, as in the present case, under a comparatively comfortable
roof and well- concealed shelter ; and she knew, too, that how-
ever she might struggle to accompany them in their wander-
ings, the struggle in her present exhausted state would be ut-
terly in vain, and lingering for her might expose her sovereign
to a renewal of the ills with which he had already striven so
nobly, and perchance to yet more irreparable misfortune. The
information of the scouts had partially reassued her, at least to
the fact that no immediate danger was to be apprehended, and
for a while she indulged the hope that safety might be found
in this hidden spot until the peril passed. She had full confi-
dence in the fidelity of the old retainers Avho had guided them
to the spot, and sought to feel satisfied that its vicinity was
unknown to the earl, her husband ; but, whether from the rest-
lessness of a slight degree of fever, or from that nervous state
of mind attendant on worn-out strength, ere the Bruce departed
the same foreboding came on her again, and all her desire was
the absence of her sovereign and his followers, to have some
hold upon his almost too exalted sense of chivalry, which would
prevent any rash act of daring on his part ; and this, as we
have seen, she obtained.

7

146 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

Could she but have prevailed on her son to accompany them,
she would calmly and resignedly have awaited her fate, what-
ever it might be ; but the horror of beholding him a prisoner
in the hands of his father — that father perhaps so enraged at
the boy's daring opposition to his will and political opinions,
that he would give him up at once to the wrath of Edward —
was a picture of anguish from which her mind revolted in such
intense suffering, she could not rest. She strove with the
fancy ; she sought to rouse every energy, to feel secure in her
present resting-place. But who can resist the influence of
feelings such as these ? What mother's heart cannot enter
into the emotions of Isabella of Buchan, as she gazed on her
noble boy, improved as he was in manliness and beauty, and
with the dread anticipation of evil, believing only absence could
protect him ; that perchance the very love which kept him by
her side would expose him to danger, imprisonment, and death ?
She did not speak her fears, but Alan vainly sought to soothe
that unwonted restlessness. 'She had endeavored to secure
the Bruce's safety by the aid of Malcolm, the young page, by
whose instrumentality she had been both captured and re-
leased. Taking advantage of Sir Alan's absence, she had
called the boy to her side, and made him promise that, at the
first manifest sign of danger, he would make his escape, which,
by his extreme agility and address, would easily be achieved,
seek the king, and give him exact information of the numbers,
strength, and situation of the foes, reminding him, at the same
time, of his solemn pledge. She made him promise the pro-
foundest secrecy, and adjured him at all hazards to save the
king.

The boy, affected by the solemnity of her manner, promised
faithfully to observe her minutest sign, and on the re-entrance
of Sir Alan departed, to marvel wherefore his lady should so
have spoken, and examine the localities around, as to the best
means of concealment and escape.

The hours waned, and night fell, as is usual in October, some
five hours after noon, the gloom perhaps greatly -increased by
the deep shades in which their place of concealment lay. Sir
Alan roused the fire to a cheerful blaze, and lighting a torch of
pine-wood, placed it in an iron bracket projecting from the wall,
and amused himself by polishing his arms, and talking in that
joyous tone his mother so loved, on every subject that his

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 147

affection fancied might interest and amuse her. He was wholly
unarmed, except his sword, which, secured to his waist by a
crimson cash, he never laid aside ; and fair and graceful to his
mother's eye did he look in his simple doublet of Lincoln-green,
cut and slashed with ruby velvet, his dark curls clustering round
his bare throat, and his bright face beaming in all the animation
of youth and health, spiritualized by the deeper feelings of his
soul ; and she, too, was still beautiful, though her frame was
slighter, her features more attenuated than when we first beheld
her. He had insisted on her reclining on the couch, and drawn
from her otherwise painful thoughts by his animated sallies,
smiles circled her pale lip, and her sorrows were a while for-
gotten.

An hour, perhaps rather more, elapsed, and found the mother
and son still as we have described. There had been no sound
without, but about that period many heavy footsteps might
have been distinguished, cautiously, it seemed, advancing.
Alan started up and listened ; the impatient neigh of a charger
was heard, and then voices suppressed, "yet, as he fancied,
familiar.

" King Robert returned already !" he exclaimed ; " they must
have had an unusually successful chase. I must e'en seek them
and inquire."

" Alan ! my child !" He started at the voice, it was so un-
like his mother's. She had risen and flung her arm around
him with a pressure so convulsive, he looked at her with terror.
There was no time to answer ; a sudden noise usurped the place
of the previous stillness — a struggle — a heavy fall ; the door
was flung rudely open, and an armed man stood upon the
threshold, his vizor up, but even had it not been, the heart of
the countess too truly told her she gazed upon her husband !

CHAPTER XIV.

A BRIEF pause followed the entrance of this unexpected
visitor. Standing upon the threshold, his dark brow knit, his
eyes fixed on his prisoners, the Earl of Buchan stood a few
minutes immovable. Alan saw but a mail-clad warrior, more

148 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

fierce and brutal in appearance than the generality of their foes,
and felt, with all that heart-sinking despondency natural to
youth, that they were betrayed, that resistance Avas in vain, for
heavier and louder grew the tramp of horse and man, and the
narrow passage, discernible through the open door, was filled
with steel-clad forms, their drawn swords glancing in the torch-
light, their dark brows gleaming in ill-concealed triumph. Alan
was still a boy in years, despite his experience as a warrior, and
in the first agony of this discovery, the first dream of chains
and captivity, when his young spirit revelled in the thought of
freedom, and joyed as a bird in the fresh air of mount and
stream, weaving bright hopes, not exile or wandering could re-
move, his impulse had been to dash his useless sword in anguish
to the earth, and weep ; but the sight of his mother checked
that internal weakness. He felt her convulsive clasp ; he be-
held the expression on her features, — how unlike their wont —
terror, suffering, whose entire cause he vainly endeavored to
define, and he roused himself for her. And she, did she see
more than her son ? She knew that face, and as she gazed, she
felt hope had departed ; she beheld naught but a long, endless
vista of anguish ; yet she felt not for herself, she thought but
of her child. And the. earl, can we define his exulting mood ? —
it was the malice, the triumph of a fiend.

" Who and what art thou ?" demanded Alan, fiercely, lay-
ing his right hand on his sword, and with the left firmly clasp-
ing his mother's waist. " What bold knight and honorable
chevalier art thou, thus seeking by stealth the retreat of a
wanderer, and overpowering by numbers and treachery men,
who on the field thou and such as thou had never dared to
meet ?"

The earl laughed ; that bitter, biting laugh of contempt and
triumph so difficult to bear.

" Thou hast a worthy tongue, my pretty springald," said he ;
" canst thou use thy sword as bravely ? Who and what am I ?
ask of the lady thou hast so caressingly encircled with thine
arm, perchance she can give thee information."

Alan started, a cold thrill passed through his frame, as the
real cause of his mother's terror flashed on his mind ; her lips,
parched and quivering, parted as to speak, but there was no
souod.

" Mother," he said, " mother, speak to thy son. Why, why

THE DAYS OF BKUCK. 149

art thou thus ? it is not the dread of imprisonment, of death.
No, no ; they have no terrors for such as thee. Who is this
man ?"

Engrossed in his own agitation, Alan had not heard the
muttered exclamation which burst from Buchan's lips with his
first words, for great was the earl's surprise as he looked on his
son ; the impression he was still a child had remained on his
mind despite all reports to the contrary, but no softer feeling
obtained dominion.

" Who and what am I ?" he continued, after a brief pause.
" Wouldst thou know, Alan of Buchan ? Even a faithful knight,
soldier, and subject of his Royal Highness Edward, king of
England and Scotland, and consequently thy foe ; the insulted
and dishonored husband of the woman thou callest mother, and
consequently thy father, young man. Ha ! have I spoken
home ? Thy sword, thy sword ; acknowledge thy disloyalty
to thy father and king, and for thee all may yet be well."

" Never !" answered Alan, proudly, the earl's concluding
words rousing the spirit which the knowledge of beholding his
father and the emotion of his mother seemed to have crushed.
" Never, Lord of Buchan ! for father I cannot call thee. Thou
mayest force me to resign my sword, thou mayest bring me to
the block, but acknowledge allegiance to a foreign tyrant, who
hath no claims on Scotland or her sons, save those of hate and
detestation, that thou canst never do, even if thy sword be
pointed at my heart."

" Boy !" burst from the earl's lips, in accents of irrepressible
rage, but he checked himself ; " thou hast learned a goodly
lesson of disobedience and daring, of a truth, and I should ten-
der grateful thanks to thy most worthy, most efficient and vir-
tuous teacher," he added, in his own bitterly sarcastic tone.
" The Lady Isabella deems, perchance, she has done her duty
to her husband in placing a crown on the head of his hereditary
and hated foe, and leading his son in the same path of rebellion
and disloyalty, and giving his service to the murderer of his
kinsman."

" Earl of Buchan, I have done my duty alike to my country
and my son," replied the countess, her high spirit roused by the
taunts of her husband. " According to the dictates of my con-
science, mine honor as a Scottish woman, the mother of a
Scottish warrior, I have done my duty, and neither imprison-

150 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

ment, nor torture, nor death will bid me retract those principles,
or waver in my acknowledgment of Scotland and her king.
Pardon me, my lord ; but there is no rebellion in resisting the
infringement of a tyrant, no disloyalty in raising the standard
against Edward, for there is no treason when there is no lawful
authority ; and by what right is Edward of England king of
Scotland ? Lord of Buchan, I have done my duty. As my
father taught me I have taught my child !"

" Regarding, of course, madam, all which that child's father
would have taught him, particularly that most Christian virtue
returning good for evil, as in the fact of revenging the death of
a kinsman with the gift of a crown. Oh ! thou hast done well,
most intrinsically well."

" I own no relationship with a traitor," burst impetuously
from Alan. " Sir John Comyn was honored in his death, for
the sword of the Bruce was too worthy a weapon for the black
heart of a traitor. Lord of Buchan, we are in thy power, it is
enough. Hadst thou wished thy son to imbibe thy peculiar
principles, to forget his country and her rights, it had been
better perchance hadst thou remembered thou hadst a child —
a son. Had the duty of a father been performed, perchance I
had not now forgotten mine as a son ! As it is, we stand as
strangers and as foes. Against thee in truth I will not raise
my sword ; but further, we are severed and forever !" He
crossed his arms proudly on his bosom, and returned the dark,
scowling glance of his father with a flashing eye, and a mien as
firm and nobler than his own.

" It is well, young man ; I thank you for my freedom," re-
turned the earl, between his teeth. " As my son, I might stand
between thee and Edward's wrath ; as a stranger and my foe,
why, whate'er his sentence be — the axe and block without
doubt — let it work, it will move me little."

" Heed not his rash words, in mercy, heed them not !" ex-
claimed the countess, her voice of agony contrasting strangely
with its former proud reserve. " Neglected, forgotten him as
thou hast, yet, Lord of Buchan, he is still thy son. Oh, in
mercy, expose him not to the deadly wrath of Edward ! thou
canst save him, thou canst give him freedom. It is I — I who
am the attainted traitor, not my child. Give me up to Edward,
and he will heed not, ask not for thy son. It is I who have
•ffended him and thee, not my child. Art thou not a Scottish

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 151

noble, descendant of a house as purely loyal and devoted to
their country as mine own — art thou not indeed this man, and
yet hath Edward, the deadly foe of thy race, thy land, thy
countrymen, more exalted claims than thine own blood ? No,
no, it cannot be ! thou wilt relent, thou wilt have mercy ; let
him be but free, and do with me even what thou wilt !"

" Free ! go free !" repeated the earl, with a hoarse laugh,
ere Alan could interfere. " Let him go free, forsooth, when he
tells me he is my foe, and will go hence and join my bitterest
enemies the moment he is free. Go free ! and who art thou
who askest this boon ? Hast thou such claims upon me, that
for thy pleasure I should give freedom to thy son ?"

" My lord, my lord, 'tis for thine own sake, for his, thy child
as well as mine, I do beseech, implore thy mercy ? draw not
the curse of heaven on thy heart by exposing him to death.
Thou wilt know and feel him as indeed thy child when he lies
bleeding before thee, when thine own hand hath forged the
death-bolt, and then, then it will be too late ; thou wilt yearn
for his voice in vain. Oh ! is it not sufficient triumph to have
in thy power the wife who hath dared thy authority, who hath
joined the patriot band, and so drawn down on her the ven-
geance of Edward ? The price of a traitor is set upon her head.
My lord, my lord, is not one victim enough — will not my cap-
ture insure thee reward and honor in the court of Edward ?
Then do with me what thou wilt — chains, torture, death ; but
my child, my brave boy — oh, if thou hast one spark of mercy
in thy heart, let him go !"

" Mother," hoarsely murmured Alan, as he strove to raise
her from her suppliant posture, " mother, this shall not be !
look upon that face and know thou pleadest in vain. I will not
accept my freedom at such a price ; thy knee, thy supplications
unto a heart of stone, for me ! No, no ;. mother, dear mother,
we will die together !" ,

" Thou shalt not, thou shalt not, my beloved, my beautiful !
thy death will be on my head, though it come from a father's
hand. I will plead, I will be heard ! My lord, my lord," she
continued, wrought to a pitch of agonized feeling, no heart save
that to which she pleaded could have heard unmoved, " I ask
but his freedom, the freedom of a boy, a child — and of whom
do I ask it ? — of his father, his own father ! Speak to me,
answer me ; thou canst not be so lost to the voice, the feelings

152 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

of nature. For the sake of the mother who loved, the father
who blessed thee, whose blessing hallowed our union and smiled
on our infant boy, have mercy on me, on thyself — let him, oh,
let him be free !"

"Mercy on thee, thou false and perjured woman!" the earl
burst forth, the cold sarcastic expression with which he had at
first listened to her impassioned entreaties giving way to the
fearful index of ungoverned rage ; " on thee, thou false traitress,
not alone to thy husband's principles but to his honor ! Do I
not know thee, minion — do I not know the motives of thy con-
duct in leaving thy husband's castle for the court of Bruce ?
Patriotism, forsooth — patriotism, ha ! the patriotism that had
vent in giving and receiving love from him ; it was so easy to
do homage to him in public as thy king. Oh, most rare and
immaculate specimen of female loyalty and virtue, I know thee
well !"

" Man !" answered the countess, springing from her knee, and
standing before him with a mien and countenance of such ma-
jestic dignity, that for a brief moment it awed even him, and
her bewildered son gazed at her with emotions of awe, strug-
gling with surprise.

" Ha ! faithless minion, thou bravest it well," continued Bu-
chan, determined on evincing no faltering in his purpose, " but
thou bravest it in vain ; dishonored thou art, and hast been,
aye, from the time thy minion Robert visited thee in Buchan
Tower, and lingered with thee the months he had disappeared
from Edward's court. Would Isabella of Buchan have ren-
dered homage to any other bold usurper, save her minion Rob-
ert ? Would the murder of a Comyn have passed unavenged
by her had the murderer been other than her gallant Bruce ?
Would Isabella of Buchan be here, the only female in the
Bruce's train — for I know that he is with thee — were loyalty
and patriotism her only motive ? Woman, I know thee ! I
know that thou didst love him, ere that false hand and falser
heart were given to me ; thy lips spoke perfidy when they
vowed allegiance at the altar ; and shall I have mercy on thy
son, for such as thee ? Mercy ! ha, have I silenced thy elo-
quence now ?"

" Silenced, false, blasphemous villian !" vociferated Alan,
every other feeling lost in the whirlwind of passion, and spring-
ing on the earl, with his drawn sword. " 'Tis thou who art

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 153

the false and faithless — thou who art lost to every feeling of
honor and of truth. Thy words are false as hell, from whence
they spring !"

" Alan, by the love thou bearest me, I charge thee put up
thy sword — it is thy father !" exclaimed the countess, com-
mandingly, and speaking the last word in a tone that thrilled
to the boy's heart. He checked himself in his full career; he
snapped his drawn sword in twain, he cast it passionately from
him, and uttering, convulsively, " Oh God, oh God, my father !"
flung himself in agony on the ground. With arms folded and
the smile of a demon on his lip the earl had awaited his attack,
but there was disappointment within, for his foul charge had
failed in its intended effect. Prouder, colder, more command-
ingly erect had become the mein of the countess as he spoke,
till she even appeared to increase in stature ; her flashing eyes
had never moved from his face, till his fell beneath them ; her
lip had curled, his cheek had flushed : powerful indeed became
the contrast between the accused and the accuser.

" Arise, my son," she said, " arise and look upon thy mother;
her brow even as her heart is unstained with shame ; she fears
not to meet the glance of her child. Look up, my boy ; I
speak these words to thee, not to that bold, bad man, who hath
dared unite the name of a daughter of Fife with shame. He
hath no word either of exculpation, denial, or assent from me.
But to thee, my child, my young, my innocent child, thee,
whose ear, when removed from me, they may strive to poison
with false tales, woven with such skill that hadst thou not thy
mother's word, should win thee to belief — to thee I say, look
on me, Alan — is this a brow of guilt ?"

" No, no, no, I will not look on thee, my mother ! I need
not to gaze on thee to know the horrid falsity of the charge,"
answered Alan, flinging his arms passionately around his
mother. " Did I never see thee more, never list that voice
again, and did all the fiends of hell come around me with their
lies, I would not hear, much less believe such charge. No, no !
oh God, 'tis my father, speaks it ! Father — and my hand is
powerless to avenge."

" I need not vengeance, my beloved ; grieve not, weep not
that thy hand is chained, and may not defend thy mother's
stainless name ; I need it not. My heart is known unto my
God, my innocence to thee ; his blessing rest with thee, my

7*

154 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

beautiful, and give thee strength for all thou mayest en-
dure."

She bent down to kiss his brow, which was damp with the
dew of intense anguish. He started up, he gave one long look
on her calm and noble face, and then he flung himself in her
arms, and sobbed like a child on her bosom. It was a fearful
moment for that woman heart ; had she been alone with her
child, both nerve and spirit must have given way, but fortu-
nately, perhaps, for the preservation of her fortitude, the Earl
of Buchan was still the witness of that scene, triumphing in the
sufferings he had caused. The countess did indeed fold her
boy convulsively to her breast, but she did not bend her head
on his, as Nature prompted ; it was still erect ; her mien ma-
jestic still, and but a slight quivering in her beautiful lip be-
trayed emotion.

" Be firm ; be thy noble self," she said. " Forget not thou
art a knight and soldier amid the patriots of Scotland. And
now a while, farewell."

She extricated herself with some difficulty from his embrace ;
she paused not to gaze again upon the posture of overwhelm-
ing despondency in which he had sunk, but with a step quick
and firm advanced to the door.

" Whither goest thou, madam ?" demanded the earl fiercely.
" Bold as thou art, it is well to know thou art a prisoner, ac-
cused of high treason against King Edward."

" I need not your lordship's voice to give me such informa-
tion," she answered, proudly. " Methinks these armed follow-
ers are all-sufficient evidence. Guard me, aye, confine me with
fetters an thou wilt, but in thy presence thou canst not force
me to abide."

" Bid a last farewell to thy son, then, proud minion," he re-
plied, with fiendish malignity ; " for an ye part now, it is for-
ever. Ye see him not again."

" Then be it so," she rejoined ; " we shall meet where false-
hood and malignant hate can never harm us more," and .with
a gesture of dignity, more irritating to the earl than the fiercest
demonstration of passion, she passed the threshold. A sign
from Buchan surrounded her with guards, and by them she
was conducted to a smaller apartment, which was first care-
fully examined as to any concealed means of escape, and then
she was left alone, a strong guard stationed at the door.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 155

The first few minutes after the disappearance of the countess
were passed by her husband in rapidly striding up and down
the room, by her son, in the same posture of mute and motion-
less anguish in which she had left him. There is no need to
define that suffering, his peculiar situation is all-sufficient to
explain it. Hurriedly securing the door from all intruders, the
earl at length approached his son.

" Wouldst thou be free ?" he said, abruptly. " Methinks
thou art young enough still to love liberty better than chains,
and perchance death. Speak, I tell thee; wouldst thou be
free ?"

" Free !" answered Alan, raising his head, with flashing eye
and burning cheek ; " would I be free ? Ask of the chained
lion, the caged bird, and they will tell thee the greenwood
and forest glade are better, dearer, even though the chain were
gemmed, the prison gilded. Would I be free ? Thou know-
est that I would."

"Swear, then, that thou wilt quit Scotland, and vow fealty
to Edward ; that never more will thy sword be raised save
against the contemned and hated Bruce. Be faithful but to
me and to King Edward, and thou shalt be free."

" Never !" answered Alan, proudly. " Earl of Buchan, I
accept no conditions with my freedom ; I will not be free, if
only on this base condition. Turn recreant and traitor to my
country and my king ! resign the precious privilege of dying,
if I may not live, for Scotland — I tell thee, never ! Urge me
no more."

" Nay, thou art but a boy, a foolish boy," continued the
earl, struggling to speak persuadingly, " incapable of judging
that which is right and best. I tell thee, I will give thee not
freedom alone, but honor, station, wealth ; I will acknowledge
thee as my well-beloved son and heir ; I will forget all that is
past ; nay, not e'en thy will or actions will I restrain ; I will
bind thee by no vow ; thou shalt take no part with Edward ;
I will interfere not with thy peculiar politics ; e'en what thou
wilt thou shalt do, aye, and have — and all this but on one con-
dition, so slight and simple that thou art worse than fool an
thou refusest."

" Speak on," muttered Alan, without raising his head. " I
hear."

" Give me but information of the movements of him thou

156 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

callest king," replied Buchan, in a low yet emphatically distinct
voice ; " give me but a hint as to where we may meet him in
combat — in all honorable and knightly combat, thou knowest
that I mean — give me but information such as this, and thou
art free, unshackled, in condition as in limb."

" In other words, betray him" replied Alan, starting up.
" Purchase my freedom with the price of his ! mine, of nothing
worth, aye, less than nothing, redeemed by his ! Oh, shame,
shame on thee, my lord ! Well mayest thou offer me freedom
of action as in will on such condition. Of little heed to Ed-
ward were the resistance of all Scotland, were Robert in his
power. Honor, station, wealth ! — oh, knowest thou the hu-
man heart so little as to believe these can exist with black
treachery and fell remorse ? Once and forever, I tell thee
thine offers are in vain. Were death in one scale, and free,
unshackled liberty in the other, and thou badest me choose be-
tween, I would not so stain my soul. Death, death itself were
welcome, aye, worse than death — confinement, chains. I would
hug them to my heart as precious boons, rather than live and
walk the earth a traitor."

" Beware !" muttered the earl ; " tempt me not too far, rash
boy. I would not do thee ill ; I would have pity on thy er-
ring youth, remembering the evil counsels, the base heart which
hath guided thee."

" Do thou beware !" retorted Alan, fiercely. " Speak not
such foul words to me. Father, as I know thou art in blood,
there are ties far stronger which bind me to my mother — ties,
neglect, forgetfulness, indifference as thine can never know.
Pity, aye, mercy's self, I scorn them, for I need them not."

"Ha! sayest thou so; then I swear thou shalt not have
them !" exclaimed the earl, rage again obtaining the ascendant.
" I would have saved thee ; I would have given thee freedom,
though I needed not the condition that I offered. Thinkest
thou I do not know that the traitor Bruce and his followers
will return hither, and fall into the net prepared? thinkest
thou I know not he is with thee, aye, that he would not have
left his patriot countess thus slightly guarded, an he hoped not
to return himself ? He cannot escape me — the murder of Sir
John Comyn will be avenged."

" He shall, he will escape thee, proud earl," undauntedly
returned Alan. "The savior of his wretched country will

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 157

not be forced to bow before such as thee ; he will be saved
out of the net prepared — harassed, chased, encompassed as he
is. I tell thee, Earl of Buchan, he will escape thee yet."

" Then, by heaven, thy head shall fall for his !" fiercely re-
plied the earl. " If he return not, he has been forewarned,
prepared, and I, fool as I was, have thought not of this danger.
Look to it, proud boy, if the Bruce return not forty-eight hours
hence, and thou art still silent, thou diest."

He held up his clenched hand in a threatening attitude, but
Alan neither moved nor spoke, firmly returning the earl's infu-
riated gaze till the door closed on his father's retreating form.
He heard the bolts drawn, the heavy tramp of the guard, and
then he threw himself on the couch, and buried his face in his
hands.

CHAPTER XV.

WHILE these fearful scenes were passing in the hunting-
lodge, Malcolm, the young page already mentioned, had con-
trived to elude the vigilance of the earl's numerous followers,
and reach the brow of the hollow in perfect safety. Endowed
with a sense and spirit above his years, and inspired by his de-
voted attachment to the countess and Sir Alan, the boy did
not merely think of his own personal security, and of the simple
act of warning the king against the treachery which awaited
his return, but, with an eye and mind well practised in intelli-
gent observation, he scanned the numbers, character, and pe-
culiar situation of the foes which had so unexpectedly come
upon them. Being peculiarly small and light in figure, and
completely clothed in a dark green tunic and hose, which was
scarcely discernible from the trees and shrubs around, he stole
in and out every brake and hollow, clambering lightly and
noiselessly over crags, hanging like a broken branch from stunt-
ed trees, leaping with the elasticity of a youthful fawn over
stream and shrub, and thus obtained a true and exact idea of
the matter he desired. The boy's heart did indeed sink as he
felt rescue would be utterly impossible ; that in one direction
the English force extended nearly a mile, guarding every ave-

158 THE DAYS OF BKDCE.

nue, every hollow in the forest, till it seemed next to impossible
King Robert could escape, even if forewarned. Wherever he
turned his steps the enemy appeared to lurk, but he wavered
not in his purpose. Aware of the direction which the king
would take in returning, Malcolm slackened not his speed until
some three hours after he had quitted the hollow, and he
stood before his sovereign well-nigh too exhausted for the ut-
terance of his tale.

The first impulse of the king and his true-hearted followers
was to dare all danger, and rescue the countess and her brave
son at the expense of their lives ; but Malcolm, flinging him-
self at the feet of Robert, adjured him, in the name of the
countess, to remember and act upon the vow he had so sol-
emnly pledged at parting. He earnestly and emphatically re-
peated the last injunctions of his lady, her deep r.nguish that
the king, the savior of Scotland, should hazard all for her and
her child — better they should die than Robert ; but these en-
treaties were but anguish to the noble spirit who heard, aye,
and felt their truth, though abide by them he could not.
Again and again he questioned and cross-questioned as to their
numbers and their strength, but Malcolm never wavered from
his first account ; clearly and concisely he gave every required
information, and with bleeding hearts that little band of pa-
triots felt they dared not hope to rescue and to conquer. Yet
tacitly to assent to necessity, to retreat without one blow, to
leave their faithful companions to death, without one stroke
for vengeance at least, if not for relief, this should not be.

" We will see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears,
at least, my friends," King Robert said. " Is there one among
ye would retreat, from the narrative of a child, true as it may
be ? Remember the pass in Argyle ; if necessary, your sov-
ereign can protect your retreat now as then ; and we shall at
least feel we have struggled to rescue, striven for the mastery,
even if it be in vain. Were my death, aye, the death of Scot-
land the forfeit, I could not so stain my knightly fame by such
retreat. Let but the morning dawn, and we will ourselves
mark the strength of our foes."

There was not one dissenting voice, rash as his determina-
tion might appear. The extraordinary skill and courage of
their sovereign, displayed in so many instances during their
perilous wanderings, were too fresh in their memories to permit

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 159

of one doubt, one fear, even had he led them on to certain
death. To throw themselves from their tired chargers, to give
them food, to lie down themselves for a brief repose on the
turf, that they might be strengthened and cheered for the
work of the morning, all this did not occupy much time ; and
if their slumbers were brief and troubled, it did not prevent
their rising with alacrity at the first peep of day to polish their
arms, look to the sharpening of their swords and spears, share
the rude huntsman's meal, and mount and ride with the first
signal of their king.

But bold and brave as were these true-hearted men, suc-
cessful as, comparatively speaking, they were in the number-
less skirmishes which took place that day, darkness overtook
them, with increase of glory indeed, but no nearer the accom-
plishment of their object than they had been in the morning.

With bitter sorrow King Robert had perceived the full con-
firmation of the page's words. The early close of the night
attendant on the autumn season was also unfavorable to his
views ; the events of the day had fully convinced him that
many an ambush was set in his path, that his personal safety
was wholly incompatible with a night attack, and therefore he
was compelled to remain on the defensive in one spot, which
was fortunately barricaded and concealed by Nature, during
the many long and weary hours forming an October night.
Yet still the following day beheld him struggling on, in the
face alike of disappointment, defeat, and danger the most im-
minent ; still seeking the same object, still hoping against hope,
and retreating only because the welfare of his country, of her
unfortunate children, depended upon him ; bands more and
more numerous pressed upon him, coming from every side,
that scarcely was one skilfully eluded ere he had to struggle
against another. Nothing but the most consummate skill, the
most patient courage, and coolest address could have extricated
him from the fearful dangers which encompassed him. Again
did his followers believe he bore a charmed life, for not only
did he deal destruction, unhurt himself, but after three days'
almost incessant fighting and fatigue, he had brought them to
a place of safety, with but the loss of five-and-twenty men.

But though painfully conscious that further efforts for the
rescue of his friends were completely useless, King Robert
could not rest satisfied without some more accurate knowledge

160 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

of their fate, and after some hurried yet anxious consultation.
Sir James Douglas, with that daring which so marked his
simplest action, declared that at all risks he would seek some
tidings that would end their anxiety. In the disguise of a
peasant he would be secure from all discovery, he said ; and
he had not the slightest fear as to the success of the adventure.
Five others started up as he spoke, entreating permission to
take the same disguise and accompany him. It was granted ;
King Robert advising them, however, to adopt a diversity of
costume, and keep each one apart as they approached in-
habited districts, as their numbers might excite suspicion, even
though the actual disguise was complete. With arms con-
cealed beneath their various disguises, they departed that same
evening, engaging to meet the king at the base of Ben-Cruchan,
some miles more south than their present trysting. It was an
anxious parting, and yet more when they were actually gone ;
for the high spirit and vein of humor which characterized the
young Lord Douglas had power to cheer his friends even in
the most painful moments. King Robert, indeed, exerted him-
self, but this last stroke had been a heavy one ; knowing so
well the character of Edward, he trembled both for the count-
ess and her noble son, perhaps less for the latter than the
former, for he hoped and believed the Earl of Buchan, if in-
deed he were their captor, would at least have some mercy on
his son, but for the countess he knew that there was no hope.
The character, the sentiments of the earl had been noticed by
the Bruce when both were at the court of Edward, and he felt
and knew that any excuse to rid him of a wife whose virtues
were obnoxious to him would be acted on with joy. And here,
perhaps, it may be well to say a few words as to the real na-
ture of King Robert's sentiments towards Isabella of Buchan,
as from the anxiety her detention occasioned they may be so
easily misunderstood.

We have performed our task but ill if our readers have
imagined aught but the most purely noble, most chivalric sen-
timents actuated the heart of the king. Whatever might have
been the nature of those sentiments in earlier days, since his
marriage with the daughter of the Earl of Mar they had never
entered his soul.

He had always believed the Lady Isabella's union with
Lord John Comyn was one of choice, not 6f necessity, nor

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 161

did his visit to her after the battle of Falkirk recall any former
feeling. His mind had been under the heavy pressure of that
self-reproach which the impressive words of Wallace had first
awakened ; the wretched state of his country, the tyranny of
Edward, occupied the mind of the man in which the emotions
of the boy had merged. He was, too, a husband and a father ;
and he was, as his fond wife so trustingly believed, too nobly
honorable to entertain one thought to her dishonor. He looked
on Isabella of Buchan as one indeed demanding his utmost
esteem and gratitude, his most faithful friendship, and he secretly
vowed that she should have it ; but these emotions took not
their coloring from the past, they were excited simply by her
high-minded devotion to the cause of her country, her unshrink-
ing patriotism, her noble qualities, alike as a mother, subject,
friend. He felt but as one noble spirit ever feels for a kindred
essence, heightened perhaps by the dissimilarity of sex, but
aught of love, even in its faintest shadow, aught of dishonor-
able feelings towards her or his own Avife never entered his
wildest dream. It was the recollection of her unwavering
loyalty, of the supporting kindness she had ever shown his
queen, which occasioned his bitter sorrow at her detention by
the foe ; it was the dread that the cruel wrath of Edward
would indeed condemn her to death for the active part she had
taken in his coronation ; the conviction, so agonizing to a mind
like his, that he had no power to rescue and avenge ; the fear-
ful foreboding that thus would all his faithful friends fall from
him — this, only this, would be the reward of all who served
and loved him ; and even while still, with undaunted firmness,
cheering the spirits of his adherents, speaking hope to them,
his own inward soul was tortured with doubts as to the wisdom
of his resistance, lingering regrets for the fate of those of his
friends already lost to him, and painful fears for the final doom
of those who yet remained.

It was in such moments of despondency that remorse, too,
ever gained dominion, and heightened his inward struggles.
Robert's hand was not framed for blood ; his whole soul re-
volted from the bitter remembrance of that fatal act of passion
which had stained his first rising. He would have given worlds,
if he had had them, to have recalled that deed. Busy fancy
represented a hundred ways of punishing treachery other than
that which his fury had adopted ; and this remembrance ever

162 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

increased the anguish with which he regarded the fate of his
friends. His lot was indeed as yet one of unexampled suffer-
ing, borne by heroism as great as unequalled ; but the lustre
of the latter too frequently dazzles the mind, and prevents the
full meed of glory being obtained. His heroism is known to
all, his sufferings to but a few ; but perhaps it was the latter yet
more than the former which gave to Scotland the glory and
honor she acquired in his reign. Heroism is scarce separable
from ambition, but to mere ambition the voice of suffering is
seldom heard. Heroism dazzles the crowd, suffering purifies
the man. If Robert the Bruce were ambitious, the passion in
him assumed a nobler and better form ; yet we can scarcely call
that ambition which sought but the delivery of Scotland from
chains, but the regaining an ancient heritage, and sought no
more. It was patriotism hallowed by suffering, purified by
adversity ; patriotism the noblest, purest which ever entered
the heart of man.

King Robert and his handful of followers not only reached
their trysting-place themselves, but were joined by the queen,
and many of her female companions and their attendant war-
riors, ere Lord James of Douglas returned ; three of his com-
panions had straggled in, one by one, with various accounts,
but none So satisfactory as the king desired, and he believed
with justice, that Douglas lingered to bring, if not satisfactory
(for that, alas ! could not be) yet accurate intelligence. If
aught could have comforted Agnes in these moments of agonized
suspense, it would have been not alone the redoubled affection
of her Nigel, but the soothing kindness, the love and sympathy
of a father, which was lavished on her by King Robert ; nay,
each of those rude warriors softened in address and tone, as
they looked on and spoke to that fair, fragile being, whom they
feared now stood alone. She did not weep when other eyes
than those of Nigel, or the Lady Campbell, or the gentle
Isoline were on her, but that deadly pallor, that quivering lip,
and heavy eye spoke all that she endured.

A large cavern, divided by Nature into many compartments,
was now the temporary shelter of the king and his friends.
It was situated at the base of Ben-Cruchan, which, though at
the entrance of the territories of Lorn, was now comparatively
secure, the foe imagining the Bruce still amidst the mountains
of Aberdeenshire.

THE DAYS OF BETJCE. 163

The evening meal was spread ; a huge fire blazing in the
stony cavity removed all appearance of damp or discomfort,
and shed a warm, ruddy light on the groups within. It was
a rude home for the King of Scotland and his court, yet neither
murmuring nor despondency was marked on the bold brows of
the warriors, or the gentler and paler features of their faithful
companions ; their frames, indeed, showed the effect of wan-
dering and anxiety ; many an eye which had been bright was
sunken, many a blooming cheek was paled ; but the lip yet
smiled, the voice had yet its gleesome tones to soothe and cheer
their warrior friends ; the eager wish to prepare the couch and
dress the simple meal, to perform those many little offices of
love and kindness so peculiarly a woman's, and engaged in with
a zest, a skill which was intuitive, for there had been a time,
and one not far distant, when those highborn females little
dreamed such household deeds would be their occupation.

Brightly and beautifully shone forth conjugal and filial love
in those wandering hours ; the wife, the child, the sister bound
themselves yet closer to the warrior husband, father, brother,
which claimed them his. Yet sweet, most sweet as were those
acts of love, there were anxious and loving hearts which felt
that soon, too soon, they must part from them, they must per-
suade those gentle ones to accede to a temporary separation —
they could not, they would not expose them to the snows and
killing frosts of a Scottish winter.

Anxiety, deep anxiety was on the heart of King Robert, be-
coming more painful with each glance he fixed on Agnes, who
was sitting apart with Nigel, her aching head resting on his
shoulder, but he strove to return the caresses of his daughter,
to repay with fond smiles the exertions of his wife. Sir Niel
Campbell (who, after many painful trials, had rejoined the king)
and others strove to disperse the silently gathering gloom by
jest and song, till the cavern walls re-echoed with their soldier
mirth. Harshly and mournfully it fell on the ear and heart of
the maiden of Buchan, but she would not have it stilled.

" No, no ; do thou speak to me, Nigel, and I shall only list
to thee. Why should the noble efforts of these brave men —
for I know even to them mirth is now an effort — be chilled and
checked, because my sick heart beats not in unison ? Oh, when
will Lord James return ?"

Nigel sought to soothe, to speak hope, but though his words

164 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

fell like balm on the bleeding heart he held to his, it was the
rich melody of their Voice, not the matter of their meaning.

The hour of rest was fast approaching, when the well-known
signal was heard without, and the young Lord Douglas, with
his two companions, were hastily and eagerly admitted within
the cave. Their looks denoted great fatigue, and the eager
eyes which scanned their countenances read little to hope, yet
much, much, alas ! to fear.

" Thou hast so far succeeded as to obtain the intelligence we
need," was the king's instant greeting, as he released his fa-
vorite young follower from his embrace ; " that I can read, but
further, I fear me, thou hast little to communicate which we
shall love to hear."

" My tidings are ill indeed, your highness ; aggravated and
most undreamed-of ill. But, perchance," and the young man
hesitated, for his eye caught the pallid face of Agnes, who had
irresistibly drawn closer to the circle about the king, and fixed
her eyes on him with an expression almost wild in its agony,
" perchance they had better first meet your grace's private
ear."

" No, no !" reiterated Agnes, springing forward, and cling-
ing convulsively to his arm. " It is only me thou fearest, I
know ; I know thou wouldst spare me, but do not, do not. I
can bear all, every thing, save this horrible suspense ; speak
out, let me but know all, and then I can teach my soul to bear
it. Oh, do not hesitate, do not pause ; in mercy, tell me — oh,
tell me all !"

Thus adjured, but feeling most painfully the suffering his
tale would produce, Douglas struggled with his own emotion,
and repeated all the information he had obtained. Guardedly
as he spoke, evidently as he endeavored to prepare the mind
of Agnes, and thus soften its woe, his tale was yet such as to
harrow up the hearts of all his hearers, how much more the
frail and gentle being to whom it more immediately related ;
yet she stood calm, pale, indeed, and quivering, but with a
desperate effort conquering the weakness of her nature, and
bearing that deep woe as the daughter of her mother, the
betrothed of Nigel Bruce."

The young lord's information was simply this. On nearing
the hunting-lodge, which was his first object, he found it very
nearly deserted, but a few stragglers, amounting perhaps to

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 165

fifty in number of the followers of Buchan, remaining behind,
with orders to follow their master to Dunkeld without delay.
Mingling with these as a countryman of the more northern
counties, eager to obtain every species of intelligence respecting
the movements of the English and the hunted Bruce, whom
he pretended to condemn and vilify after the fashion of the
Anglo- Scots, and feeling perfectly secure not only in the dis-
guise he had assumed, but in the peculiar accent and intonation
of the north-country peasant, which he could assume at pleas-
ure, he made himself a welcome guest, and with scarcely any
trouble received much of the information he desired. He was
told of the first capture and rescue of the Countess of Buchan ;
that it was through one of the men left for dead on the scene
of the skirmish the earl had received such exact information
concerning the movements and intended destination of the
Bruce ; that immediately on receiving this intelligence he had
gathered all his force, amounting to five hundred men, and di-
viding them into different bands, sent skilful guides with each,
and was thus enabled to surround the lodge, and command
five different avenues of the forest, without interruption or dis-
covery. He learned, too, that a stormy interview had taken
place between the earl, his wife, and son, the particulars of
which, however, had not transpired ; that the earl's rage had
been terrific when he found the night passed, and the Bruce
had not fallen into the snare laid for him ; and he had sworn a
fearful oath, that if the countess would not betray him into
his power, her son should die ; that both mother and son had
stood this awful trial without shrinking ; that no word either
to betray their king or implore life and mercy had been wrung
from them. Incensed beyond all measure, Buchan had sent
on the countess with a numerous guard, his men believed, either
to Dunkeld or Perth, in both of which towns there was a strong
garrison of English, and lingered yet another day and night in
the hope of dragging some intelligence from the lips of Alan,
or persuading him into acting the spy upon the actions and
movements of the Bruce. He succeeded in neither ; and the
men continued to state, with shuddering horror, which even
their rude natures could not suppress, that they believed the
son had actually fallen a victim to his father's rage — that he
had actually been murdered. Numerous reports to that effect-
had been circulated on all sides, and though they had watched

166 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

•

narrowly, they had seen nothing to contradict it. The body
of the unfortunate boy had been cast into a deep well, heaps
of rubbish flung over it, and the well built up. This they knew
as a positive certainty, for they had seen it.

Douglas heard this tale with an intensity of horror, of loath-
ing, which at first deprived him almost of every other feeling ;
but when he could withdraw himself from the horrible idea, a
species of disbelief took possession of him. It was impossible
such utter depravity, such fearful insensibility to the claims of
nature could exist in the breast of any man ; it was a tale
forged to inflict fresh agony on the mother's heart, and he de-
termined on discovering, if possible, the truth. He pretended
entirely to disbelieve it ; declared it was not possible ; that the
earl had practised on their credulity, and would laugh at them
afterwards ; and contrived so well, that three or four declared
he should be convinced with his own eyes, and set about pull-
ing down the slight brickwork which covered the well. This
was what Douglas wanted, and he eagerly lent them a helping
hand.

A body there was indeed, in form and in clothing so exactly
that of the unhappy Alan, that, even though the face was so
marred it could not be recognized, the young earl could doubt
no longer ; the young, the brave, the beautiful, and true, had
fallen a victim to his own patriot loyalty, and by a father's
hand. The deep suffering this certainly occasioned was re-
garded by his companions as sulkiness for having been proved
wrong in his judgment ; they jeered and laughed at him ac-
cordingly, and harshly as these sounds reverberated in his heart,
they were welcome, as enabling him still more easily to con-
tinue his disguise.

He accompanied them to Dunkeld, and found the earl had
proceeded with his wife as prisoner to the castle of Stirling,
there to deliver her over to the Earl of Hereford, through
whom to be sent on to Edward. Determined on seeing her, if
possible, Douglas resolved on daring the danger, and venturing
even to the very stronghold of his foes. The horror which
this unnatural act of the earl had excited in the minds of his
men, he found had extended even over those in Dunkeld, and
through them he learned that, directly on reaching the town,
the earl had sought the countess, brutally communicated the
death of her son, and placed in her hands the raven curls as

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 167

all which remained of him, some of which were dabbled in
blood ; that she had remained apparently unmoved while in
his presence, but the moment he left her had sunk into a suc-
cession of the most fearful fainting fits, in one of which she
had been removed to Stirling.

Withdrawing himself from his companions, under pretence
of returning to his home in the north, having, he said, loitered
too long, Douglas concealed himself for some days in the ab-
bey of Scone, the holy inmates of which still retained their
loyalty and patriotism, notwithstanding their revered abbot,
unable to remain longer inactive, had donned the warrior's
dress, and departed to join and fight with his king. Assum-
ing the cowl and robes of one of the lay brothers, and removing
the red wig and beard he had adopted with his former cos-
tume, the young lord took the staff in his hand, and with diffi-
culty bringing his hasty pace to a level with the sober step and
grave demeanor of a reverend monk, reached Stirling just as
the cavalcade, with the litter intended for the captive countess,
had assembled before the castle gate. Agitated almost be-
yond the power of control, Douglas made his way through
the gathering crowds, and stood unquestioned close beside the
litter. He did not wait long. Respectfully supported by the
Earl of Hereford himself, the Countess of Buchan, with a firm,
unfaltering step, approached the litter. The hood was thrown
back, and Douglas could read the effects of withering agony
on the marble stillness of those beautiful features, though to
all else they spoke but firm and calm resolve ; there was not a
vestige of color on cheek or lip or brow ; and though her figure
was as commanding, as majestic as heretofore, there was a
fearful attenuation about it, speaking volumes to Lord James's
heart. Hereford placed her in the litter, and with a respectful
salutation turned away to give some necessary orders to his
men. Bold in his disguise, Douglas bent over the countess,
and spoke in a low, feigned voice those words of comfort and
of peace suited to his assumed character ; but feigned as it
was, the countess recognized him on that instant ; a convulsive
shudder passed through her every limb, contracting her features
with very agony.

" My child — my Alan !" she whispered, harrowing his very
soul beneath that voice's thrilling woe. " Douglas, hast thou
heard ? — yes, yes ; I can read it in thine awe struck face.

168 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

This, this is all I have left of him," and she partly drew from
her bosom the clustering ringlets he recognized at once ; " yet,
wherefore should I mourn him : he is happy. Bid his mem-
ory be honored among ye ; and oh, tell the sovereign for
whom he fell, better a death like this than treachery and
shame."

She had paused as fearing observation, but perceiving the
attention of all more fixed on the glittering cavalcade than on
herself, she placed one of those glossy curls in the young earl's
hand, and continued —

" Give this to my poor Agnes, with her mother's blessing,
and bid her take comfort, bid her not weep and mourn for me.
A prison, even death is preferable now to life, for she is cared
for. I trust her to Sir Nigel's love ; I know that he will tend
her as a brother till a happier hour makes her all his own.
Commend me to my sovereign, and tell him, might I choose my
path again, despite its anguish, 'twould be that which I have
trod. And now farewell, young lord, I bless thee for this
meeting."

" Dominus vobiscum mea filia, et vale," responded the sup-
posed monk, in a loud voice, for he had only time to assure the
countess by a look of deep sympathy of his willingness to exe-
cute her simplest wish, and hide the ringlet in his bosom, ere
Hereford turned towards him, with a gaze of stern inquiry.
Ably concealing alike his emotion and the expression of his
countenance, Douglas evaded discovery, and even obtained per-
mission to follow the litter to the environs of the town. He
did so, but the countess addressed him not again ; and it was
with a heart-sinking despondency he had turned to the moun-
tains, when the cavalcade disappeared from his view. He re-
tained his monkish garb till he entered the mountain district,
where he fell in with his two companions, and they proceeded,
as we have seen, to the quarters of their king.

A pause of horror followed his narrative, told more forcibly
and briefly by the lips of Douglas than through the cooler me-
dium of the historian's pen. Stunned, overwhelmed, as if in-
capable of movement or speech, though sense remained, Agnes
stood insensible, even to the voice of Nigel, whose soothing
accents strove to whisper peace ; but when Douglas placed in
her cold hand the raven curls she knew so well, when tenderly
yet earnestly he repeated her mother's words, the poor girl

THE DATS OF BKTJCE. 169

repeatedly pressed the hair to her parched lips, and laid it in
her bosom ; and then perceiving the sad and anxious face of
her beloved, she passed her hand hurriedly over her brow, and
burying her head on his breast, sense was preserved by an
agony of tears.

It was long, long ere this aggravated wretchedness was
calmed, though the love of many, the devotion of one were
ever round her to strengthen and console. Sjunpathy, the most
heartfelt, reigned in every bosom. Of the many misfortunes
which had befallen this patriot band, this seemed, if not really
the severest, more fraught with horror than any which had
come before ; the youth, the gallant bearing, the endearing
qualities of the heir of Buchan stood forth with vivid clearness
in the memories of all, and there were times when they felt it
could not be, it was too fearful ; and then again, the too cer-
tain evidence of the fact, witnessed as it had been by one of
such tried truth as James of Douglas, brought conviction too
clearly home, and the sternest warrior, who would have faced
his own captivity and death unmoved, felt no shame in the
dimness which gathered in his eye for the fearful fate of the
murdered boy.

In King Robert's breast these emotions obtained yet more
powerful dominion ; again did remorse distract him, and there
were moments of darkness, when his spirit questioned the jus-
tice of the Creator. Why was not his crime visited on his own
head ? Why did the guiltless and unstained fall thus around
him, and he remain unharmed ? and it needed all the elo-
quence of Nigel, the pious reasonings of the Abbot of Scone,
to convince him that, dark and inscrutable as the decrees of
Omnipotence sometimes seemed, in his case they were as clear
as the wisdom from which they sprung. By chastisement he
was purified ; he was not yet fit to receive the reward of the
righteous waiting on death. Destined to be the savior of his
unhappy country, the remorse which bowed down his naturally
haughty spirit was more acceptable in the sight of his God,
more beneficial to his own soul, than the one act of devoted-
ness included in a brave man's death. Robert struggled with
his despondency, with his soul's deep grief, known as it was
but to himself, his confessor, and his young brother; he felt its
encouragement would unnerve him for his destined task. Other
imperative matters now pressed round him, and by presenting

8

170 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

fresh and increased danger, roused his energies once more to
their wonted action.

The winter had set in Avith unexampled severity, overwhelm-
ing snow-storms filled up the rude paths of the mountains, till
egress and ingress appeared impossible. The Earl of Athol
himself, who had been the inseparable companion of the Brace in
all his wanderings, now spoke of retiring, and passing the win-
ter within stone walls, urging his sovereign with earnest elo-
quence to take refuge in Ireland till the spring, when they
would reassemble under arms, and perhaps take the tyrant
Edward once more by surprise.

Bruce knew the veteran nobleman too well to attribute this
advice to any motive save deep interest in his safety. He saw,
too, that it was utterly impossible for them to remain as they
then were, without serious evils alike to his female and male
companions ; the common soldiers, steady and firm as they still
continued in loyalty, yet were continually dispersing, promising
to reassemble in the spring, but declaring that it was useless to
think of struggling against the English, when the very elements
were at war against them. With a sad foreboding, Robert
saw, and communicated to his devoted wife the necessity of
their separation. He felt that it was right and best, and there-
fore he resisted all her tearful entreaties still to linger by his
side ; her child was suffering, for her tender years could not
bear up against the cold and the want of proper nourishment, •
and yet even that claim seemed less to the mother's heart than
the vision of her husband enduring increase of hardship alone.
Her acquiescence was indeed at length obtained, but dimmed
by many very bitter tears.

A hasty consultation with his few remaining friends speedily
decided the Bruce's plans. The castle of Kildrummie, a strong
fortress situated at the head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire, yet
remained to him, and thither, under the escort of his brother
Nigel and three hundred men, the king determined to send his
wife and child, and the other ladies of his court. Himself, his
three brothers, Edward, Alexander, and Thomas, Douglas, Sir
Kiel Campbell, and his remaining two hundred followers, re-
solved on cautiously making their way southward across Loch
Lomond, and proceed thence to the coast of Ireland, there to
await the spring. In pursuance of this plan, Sir Niel Camp-
bell was dispatched without delay to conciliate Angus, Lord of

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 171

the Isles, to whom Cantire then belonged. Knowing he was
unfriendly to his near neighbors, the Lords of Lorn, the king
trusted he should find in him a powerful ally. To appeal yet
more strongly to the chivalric hospitality which characterized
the chieftain, Sir Niel consented that his wife and daughter
Isoline should accompany him. Lady Campbell had too lately
undergone the grief and anxiety attendant on the supposed loss
of her husband to consent to another parting. Even the king,
her brother, sought not to dissuade her ; but all persuasions to
induce Agnes to accompany them were vain ; bitter as the pang
of separation was to her already aching heart — for Lady Camp-
bell and Isoline were both most dear to her — she steadily re-
solved to remain with the queen and her attendants, and thus
share the fate of her betrothed.

" Did not my mother commend me to thy care ? Did she
not bid thee tend me as a brother until happier hours, and shall
I seek other guardianship than thine, my Nigel?" were her
whispered words, and Nigel could not answer them. So pure,
so unselfish was her love, that though he felt his happiness
would have departed with her presence, could he have com-
manded words he would have implored* her to seek the hospi-
tality of the Lord of the Isles as a securer home than Kildrum-
mie. Those forebodings already alluded to had returned with
darker weight from the hour his separation from his brother
was resolved on. He evinced no sign of his inward thoughts,
he uttered no word of dissent, for the trust reposed in him by
his sovereign was indeed as precious as it was honorable ; but
there was a mournful expression on his beautiful countenance —
when unobserved, it would rest upon his brother — that Agnes
could not define, although it filled her spirit with incomprehen-
sible alarm, and urged her yet more to abide by his side.

The dreaded day arrived at length, and agonized was indeed
that parting. Cheerfully the king looked, and hopefully he
spoke, but it had no power to calm the whelming tide of sor-
row in which his wife clung to his embrace. Again and again
she returned to that faithful heart which bore so fondly, so for-
bearingly, with all her faults and weaknesses ; and Margory,
although she could not comprehend the extent of sorrow ex-
perienced by her mother, wept bitterly at. her side. Nor were
they the only sufferers. Some indeed were fortunate enough
to have relatives amid the band which accompanied them to

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

Kildrummie, but by far the greater number clung to the neckg
of brothers, fathers, husbands, whose faithful and loving com-
panions they had been so long — clung to them and wept, as
if a long dim vista of sorrow and separation stretched before
them. Danger, indeed, was around them, and the very fact
of their being thus compelled to divide, appeared to heighten
the perils, and tacitly acknowledge them as too great to be
endured.

With pain and difficulty the iron-souled warriors at length
tore themselves from the embrace of those they held most
dear. The knights and their followers had closed round the
litters, and commenced their march. No clarion sent its shrill
blast on the mountain echoes, no inspiring drum reverberated
through the glens — all was mournfully still ; as the rudest
soldier revered the grief he beheld, and shrunk from disturbing
it by a sound.

King Robert stood alone, on the spot where Sir Christopher
Seaton had borne from him his wife and child. His eyes still
watched their litter ; his thoughts still lingered with them
alone ; full of affection, anxiety, sadness, they were engrossed,
but not defined. He was aroused by the sudden appearance
of his younger brother, who, bareheaded, threw himself at his
feet, and, in a voice strangely husky, murmured —

" My sovereign, my brother, bless me, oh, bless me, ere we
part !"

" My blessing — the blessing of one they deem accursed ; and
to thee, good, noble, stainless as thou art ! Nigel, Nigel, do not
mock me thus," answered the king, bitterness struggling with
the deepest melancholy, as he laid his hand, which strangely
trembled, on the young man's lowered head. " Alas ! bring I
not evil and misery and death on all who love me ? What,
what may my blessing bring to thee ?"

" Joy, bright joy in the hour of mirth and comfort ; oh,
untold-of comfort in the time of sorrow, imprisonment, death !
My brother, my brother, oh, refuse it not ; thou knowest not,
thou canst not know how Nigel loves thee !"

Robert gazed at him till every thought, every feeling was
lost in the sudden sensation of dread lest ill should come to
him ; it had overtaken one as fair in promise, as beloved, and
yet younger ; and oh, if death selected the best, the loveliest,
the dearest, would it next fall on him ? The thought was such

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 173

X

absolute agony, that the previous suffering of that hour was
lost before it.

" Bless thee — oh, may God in heaven bless thee, my brave,
my noble Nigel !" he exclaimed, with a burst of emotion, per-
fectly appalling in one generally so controlled, and raising him,
he strained him convulsively to his heart. " Yet why should
we part ?" he added, after a long pause ; " why did I fix on
thee for this office — are there not others ? Nigel, Nigel, say
but the word, and thou shalt rest with me : danger, privation,
exile we have borne, and may still share together. Why should
I send thee from me, dearest, most beloved of all who call me
brother ?"

" Why ?" answered Nigel, raising his glistening eyes from
his brother's shoulder, " why, dear Robert ? because thine eye
could read my heart and trust it ; because thou knewest I
would watch over those who bear thy name, who are dear to
thee, even as thy noble self. Oh, do not repent thee of thy
choice ; 'tis hard to bear alone danger, so long encountered
hand in hand, yet as thou hast decided let it be. Thy words
have soothed my yearning heart, which craved to list thy voice
once more ; and now then, my noble liege and brother, fare-
well. Think on thy Nigel's words ; even when misery is round
thee thou shalt, thou shalt be blessed. Think on them, my
Robert, and then when joy and liberty and conquest crown
thee, oh, forget not Nigel."

He threw his arms around him, imprinted a fervent kiss
on his cheek, and was out of sight ere the king by sign or
word could arrest his progress. One hasty bound forward
Robert indeed made, but a dimness stole over his sight, and
for one brief minute he sunk down on the grass, and when he
lifted his head again, there were burning tears upon his cheek.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE hardships and dangers attendant on King Robert's
progress southward, mingled as they were with the very spirit
of romance, are so well known to every reader of Scottish
history that they must be excluded from our pages, although

174: THE DATS OF BRUCE.

a tale of chivalry would seem the very place for thoir in-
sertion.

The life of no hero, no sovereign, no general, presents us
with a parallel to the lone and dreary passage of Loch Lomond.
We hear of an ancient and a modern Hannibal crossing the
snowy Alps, but it was at the head of triumphant armies ; it
was carrying war and victory into an enemy's land, and there
was glory in the danger — the glory and pride of successful
ambition. But there was greater and truer heroism in the
spirit which struggled on when the broad, deep waters of Loch
Lomond lay between them and comparative safety ; when 'mid
falling snow and howling winds he cheered his drooping and
exhausted followers by reading aloud a spirit-stirring romance,
to which they listened en wrapt and charmed, little imagining
their own situation was one of far greater peril, of more ex-
citing romance than any which the volume so vividly de-
scribed. A leaky boat, which scarcely allowed three men to
cross in safety, was their only means of conveyance, and a
day and night passed ere the two hundred followers of the
Bruce assembled on the opposite side. The cheerful blast of
his bugle, which sounded to form them in bands before him
on the beach, was answered by one whose unexpected ap-
pearance occasioned such joy to the heart of the king, that
the exertions both of body and mind of the last few hours
were forgotten. It was the Earl of Lennox, who since the
fatal battle of Methven had been numbered amongst the dead,
and lamented by his royal master with grief as deep as the
joy was exceeding which greeted him again. Mutual was the
tale of suffering each had to relate, few and faint the hopes
and prospects to communicate, but so many were the friends
the patriots had lost, that the reappearance of the venerable
nobleman infused a new and brighter spirit amid the almost
despairing men.

That the Earl of Lennox had found a kind and hospitable
home in the dominions of the Lord of the Isles, and received
welcome and favor from the chieftain himself, was justly a sub-
ject of rejoicing to the fugitive king. Guided by him, the
intricacies of their path were smoothed, and they reached their
destination in a much shorter time than would otherwise have
been the case. Sir Niel Campbell had performed his mission
well, and kindness and truth so long unknown, now eagerly

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 175

opened their hearths and hearts to the patriot king. Scorning
alike the Scottish and English authority, Angus, Lord of the
Isles, had formed an independent sovereignty, and now felt
pride in receiving in his territories the only sovereign he had
felt inclination to revere. The daring heroism, the unshaken
spirit of the Bruce, were akin to his own wild and reckless
courage, and had there been no actual claim and right in
Robert's pretensions to the crown, Angus would still have
declared that he, and he alone, was the sovereign worthy to
assume it. All, then, of state and dignity which he could
assemble round him were proffered to the king, and had there
been less generosity, less chivalric honor in his character King
Robert might have passed the winter months in comparative
security and comfort.

Angus indeed spoke daringly and slightly of the English
force, and had his inmost soul been read, would have joyed
had they ventured to attack him, that he might show his
skill and bravery in resisting and defending against their united
force the sovereign who had confided in his gallantry and
honor ; but Robert knew better than the rude chieftain the
devastating warfare which characterized Edward's efforts at
subjection, and his whole soul shrunk from exposing Angus
and his true-hearted followers to the utter ruin which, if he
were once known to be amongst them, would inevitably ensue.
At once to secure his personal concealment, and yet to with-
draw from Cantire without in any way offending the high spirit
of the island chieftain, Bruce resolved on making the little island
of Rathlin the winter refuge of himself and his two hundred
followers.

Inhabited by the MacDonalds, who were of course subject
to their general chief, though divided from him by the channel,
Bruce was still under the generous protection of his friend,
and therefore Angus could bring forward no objection to the
proposal, save the miserable poverty, the many discomforts of
the barren islet, and entreat with all his natural eloquence that
King Robert would still remain in the peninsula. The argu-
ments of the king, however, prevailed. A small fleet, better
manned than built, was instantly made ready for his service,
and Angus himself conveyed the king in his own galley to his
destined residence. The aspect of the island, the savage ap-
pearance and manner of its inhabitants were indeed such as to

176 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

strike despondingly and painfully on the hearts of any less
inured to suffering than King Robert and his devoted adherents.
To them it was welcome, for they justly felt the eye of Edward
could scarcely reach them there. It was a painful alternative
to warrior spirits such as theirs that the safety of their country
depended on their inaction and concealment ; yet as their king,
their patriot king, was still amongst them, there was much,
much to hope and cherish still. That their gentler friends anrf
relatives were, they hoped and believed, in a place of safety,
was a matter of rejoicing, though neither entreaty nor com-
mand could persuade the Lady Campbell and her daughtei
Isoline to accept the proffered hospitality of the island chief-
tain. It was nothing to them that they were the only females
'mid that warrior train, that many hardships were around them
still. Neither Sir Niel nor the king could resist their pleadings,
and ere the sun of spring had shed its influence on the heart
of man as well as the hardened earth, there were many who
mourned that a separation had taken place, who wished that
fatigue and anxiety had still been met together.

Many weeks before King Robert retreated to the island of
Rathlin, Sir Nigel Bruce had conducted his precious charge in
safety to the castle of Kildrummie, whose feeble garrison gladly
flung open their gates to receive them.

It was a strong fortress situated on a circular mount, over-
hanging the river Don, which at that point ever rushed darkly
and stormily along ; the mount, though not steep, was full two
miles in circumference, from base to brow occupied by the cas-
tle, which was erected in that massive yet irregular form pecu-
liar to the architecture of the middle ages. A deep, broad moat
or fosse, constantly supplied by the river, defended the castle
wall, which ran round the mound, irregularly indeed, for there
were indentations and sharp angles, occasioned by the uneven
ground, each of which was guarded by a strong turret or tow-
er, rising from the wall. The wall itself was some four-and-
twenty feet in height, and nine in thickness, consequently the
spaces between the turrets on the top of the wall formed broad
level platforms, which in case of a siege were generally kept
strongly guarded. Facing the east, and commanding a view
of the river and adjacent country, stood the barbacan gate and
drawbridge, which latter was further defended by strong oaken
doors and an iron portcullis, forming the great gate of the cas-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 177

tie wall, and the principal entrance into the fortress. Two
towers of immense strength, united by a narrow, dimly-lighted
passage, guarded this gate, and on these depended the grate or
portcullis, which was lowered or raised by internal machinery.
Within the castle wall was the outer ballium or court, contain-
ing some small, low-roofed dwellings, the residence of many
feudal retainers of the baron. A rude church or chapel was
also within this court, holding a communication with the keep
or principal part of the castle by means of a passage in the third
wall, which divided the ballium from the inner court. In very
large castles there were in general a second fosse, wall, gate,
and towers guarding the keep, and thus making a complete di-
vision between it and the ballium ; but the original owners of
Kildrummie, less rich and powerful suzerains than their equals
in South Britain, were probably contented with merely a stout
wall to divide their own sovereign residence from their more
plebeian followers. The keep itself, constructed like all other
similar buildings of the age, was a massive tower, covering but
a small square, and four or five stories high. There were at-
tempts at luxury in the chambers within, but to modern taste
the Norman luxury was little better than rudeness ; and cer-
tainly though the cushions were soft and richly embroidered,
the arras in some of the apartments splendid specimens of nee-
dlework, and the beautifully carved and often inlaid oaken walls
of others, gave evidence of both taste and talent, yet the dim
light seemed to shed a gloom and heaviness over the whole
range of rooms and passages, which no skill of workmanship or
richness of material could remove. The windows were invaria-
bly small, and very long and narrow, and set in walls of such
huge thickness, that the sun had barely power even in his sum-
mer splendor, to penetrate the dusky panes. In this keep was
the great hall of audience, and for the banquet, at the upper
end of which the dais was invariably found, and dark and loath-
some dungeons formed its basement.

The roof of Kildrummie keep was flatter than the generality
of Norman castles, its four angles being surmounted more by
the appearance than the reality of turrets ; but one rose from
the centre, round, and pierced by loopholes, turreted at the top,
and commanding an extensive view of the adjoining country :
from this tower the banner of the baron always waved, and its
non-appearance excited some indignation in the breast of Nigel

8*

178 THE DAYS OF BKUCE. -

Bruce, for his warrior spirit had no sympathy with that timor-
ous excuse, that did it wave at such a time it might excite the
attention of the English, whereas did it elevate no symbol of
defiance its garrison might pass unquestioned.

" Up with the banner of Scotland and the Bruce !" were the
first commands of Sir Nigel, as he stood within the ballium,
surrounded by his charge and followers. " Shall we, pledged
as we are to our country and king, even seem to stand neutral
and conceal our colors, as ashamed of them ? Shall this be ?"

He was answered by a simultaneous rush towards the keep,
and at his word the folds of the broad banner waved exultingly
from the tower, its appearance hailed by a loud shout from those
beneath, and by a bright and momentary gleam of sunshine
flashing through the heavy clouds.

" Ha ! see ye, my friends, even heaven smiles on us," exclaim-
ed the young knight triumphantly, and smiling cheerily on his
fair friends, as with gay words and graceful action he marshal-
led them into the keep. It was while doing so, that Agnes
marked the figure of an old yet majestic-looking man, whose
eyes, still bright and flashing, though his white hair denoted ex-
treme old age, were fixed immovably on the face" and form of
Nigel. It was a peculiar glance, strained, eager, and yet mourn-
ful, holding her attention so fascinated that she paused in her
onward way, and pointed him out to Nigel.

" I know him not, love," he said, in answer to her inquiry.
" I should deem him minstrel by his garb, or seer, or both per-
chance, as is sometimes the case, conjoined. I will speak with
him when my present grateful task is done."

But it was the next morning ere he had the opportunity of
doing so, for much devolved on the young seneschal. He had
to visit the outworks, the stores, the offices, to give multitudi-
nous orders, and receive various intelligences, to review the pres-
ent garrison and his own followers, and assign to each his post ;
and though ably aided by Sir Christopher Seaton and other of
his officers, all this occupied much time. The outworks he found
in excellent condition ; the barbacan, of massive stone, seemed
well enabled to resist attack, should it be made ; the machinery
of the drawbridge was in good order, and enabled to be drawn
up or let down at a moment's warning. The stores and grana-
ries, which were contained in the towers on the castle wall, were
very amply provided, though Nigel, taking advantage of the

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 179

present peaceful temper of the country, dispatched trusty mes-
sengers without delay for further supplies. That this fortress,
almost the only one remaining to his brother, would remain un-
molested, Nigel did not for one moment believe, but he did hope
that, in case of a siege, if amply provided with stores, it might
hold out till the intense cold of the season and climate would
turn the besiegers from their purpose ; at all events, the advan-
cing winter would be more favorable to the besieged than the
besiegers, and though the garrison was comparatively small, the
place itself was of such great strength as to guarantee the in-
dulgence of his hopes. That the original garrison were too tim-
orous and wavering for him to place much dependence on them
he readily perceived, but he trusted much to the beneficial in-
fluence which his own steady, true-hearted followers might be
enabled to infuse.

Nigel was young, brave, and animated by every feeling which
inspires courage and hope in the buoyant heart of youth. The
gloom which had oppressed him in parting with his brother,
and indeed had partially clouded his spirit during their rapid
journey, vanished before the duties and responsibilities which
thronged round him, now that he felt himself the guard and
seneschal of the castle intrusted to his charge ; now that new
duties devolved on him, duties particularly dear to a young and
gallant spirit like his own ; duties, too, that bound him closer
and closer with the gentle being in whose welfare and happi-
ness his own were shrined. It was with a bright smile, then,
and animated brow he joined his Agnes early the following
morning, in a stroll through a small woody inclosure dignified
by the name of garden, which occupied part of the inner court.
The old minstrel who had so attracted the attention of Agnes
was there before them. He stood against a projecting buttress,
his arms folded, his eyes fixed, it seemed on vacancy, and evi-
dently not aware he was approached till Nigel spoke.

" Good morrow, father. I thought we had been the earliest
to greet this fresh and frosty air, save those on guard, yet you
are before us. Nay, wherefore doff thy cap, good father?
The air is somewhat too frosty for thy silvered head."

" I cannot doff it to a nobler, gentle youth," answered the
old man, courteously, " save to my sovereign's self ; and as his
representative, I pay willing homage to his brother."

" Ha ! dost thou know me, father ? And was it because I

180 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

am King Robert's brother thine eyes so rested on me yesier
morn, mournfully, me thought, as if the joy with which I hailed
the gleam of sunshine smiling on our banner had little echo in
thy breast ?"

" Not that, not that," answered the old man, tremulously ;
" I scarce remarked it, for my thoughts were in that future
which is sometimes given me to read. I saw thee, noble youth,
but 'twas not here. Dim visions come across my waking hours ;
it is not well to note them," and he turned away as if he might
not meet those eager eyes.

" Not here ! yet I was at his side, good father," and Agnes
laid her fair hand on the old man's arm.

"Thou wert, thou wert, my child. Beautiful, beautiful!"
he half whispered, as he laid his hand dreamily on those golden
curls, and looked on her face ; " yet hath sorrow touched thee,
maiden. Thy morn of life hath been o'erclouded ; its shadow
lingers yet."

" Too truly speakest thou, father," replied Nigel, drawing
Agnes closer to his heart, for tears were starting in her eyes ;
" yet will not love soon chase that sorrow ? Thou who canst
penetrate the future, seer of the Bruce's line, tell me, shall she
not be mine ?"

The old man looked on them both, and then his eyes became
fixed on vacancy ; long and painfully once or twice he passed
bis hand across his high, pale brow.

" Vain, vain," he said, sadly ; " but one vision comes to mine
aching sight, and there she seems thine own. She is thine
own — but I know not how that will be. Ask me no more ;
the dream is passing. 'Tis a sad and fearful gift. Others may
triumph in the power, but for me 'tis sad, 'tis very sad."

" Sad ! nay, is it not joy, the anticipating joy," answered
Nigel, with animation, " to look on a beloved one, and mark,
amid the clouds of distance, glory, and honor, and love entwining
on his path ? to look through shades of present sorrow, and
discern the sunbeam afar off — is there not joy in this ?"

" Aye, gentle youth ; but now, oh, now is there aught in
Scotland to whisper these bright things ? There was rejoicing,
and glory, and triumph around the patriot Wallace. Scotland
sprung from her sluggish sleep, and gave back her echo to his
inspiring call. I looked upon the hero's beaming brow, I met
the sparkle of his brilliant eye, I bowed before the native ma-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 181

jesty of his god-like form, but there was no joy for me. Dark
masses of clouds closed round the present sunshine ; the present
fled like a mist before them, and they oped, and then — there
was still Wallace ; but oh! how did I see him? 'the scaffold,
the cord, the mocking crowds, the steel-clad guards — all, all,
even as he fell. My children ! my children ! was there joy in
this ?"

There was a thrilling pathos in the old man's voice that
touched the very heart of his listeners. Agnes clung closer to
the arm of her betrothed, and looked up tearfully in his face ;
his cheek was very pale, and his lip slightly quivered. There
was evidently a desire to speak, to utter some inquiry, but he
looked on that sweet face upturned to his, and the unspoken
words died in an inarticulate murmur on his lips.

" My brother," he said, at length, and with some difficulty,
though it was evident from the expression of his countenance
this was not the question he had meant to ask, " my noble
brother, will thy glorious struggles, thy persevering valor, end
in this ? No, no, it cannot be. Prophet and seer, hast thou
e'er gazed on him — him, the hope, the joy, the glory of the
line of Bruce ? Hast thou gazed on him, and was there no
joy there ?"

" Yes !" answered the old man, starting from his posture of
despondency, and raising his hands with animated fervor, while
his cheek flushed, and his eyes, fixed on distance, sparkled with
all the fire of youth. " Yes ! I have gazed upon that face,
and in present and in future it is glorious still. Thick mists
have risen round him, well-nigh concealing him within their
murky folds, but still, still as a star penetrating through cloud,
and mist, and space, till it sees its own bright semblance in the
ocean depths, so has that brow, circled by its diadem of free-
dom, gleamed back upon mine aching sight, and I have seen
and known there is joy for Bruce and Scotland yet !"

" Then is there joy for all true Scottish men; good father,
and so will we chase all sadness from our brows and hearts,"
replied Nigel, lightly. " Come, tell us of the past, and not the
future, while we stroll ; thou hast traditions, hast thou not, to
while away an hour ?"

"Nay, my young lord," replied the seer, "hast thou not
enough in the present, embodied as it is in this fair maiden's
dreaming eye and loving heart ? The minstrel's harp and ancient

182 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

lore are for the evening hour, not for a time and companion such
as this," and with an audible blessing he turned away, leaving
them to their stroll together.

It was not, however, without an effort Nigel could take ad-
vantage of his absence, and make good use of moments so
blissful to hearts that love. There was something in the old
man's mournful tone and glance when it rested upon him, that
answered strangely and sadly to the spirit-voice breathing in
his own bold breast. It seemed to touch that chord indefinably,
yet felt by the vibration of every nerve which followed. He
roused himself, however, and ere they joined the morning meal,
there was a brighter smile on the lip and heart of Agnes than
had rested there for many a long day.

For a few weeks there was peace both within and without
the castle of Kildrummie. The relief, the shelter which its
walls afforded to the wearied and exhausted wanderers was at
first felt and enjoyed alone. Many of the frailer sex were far
too exhausted and disabled by a variety of sufferings, to be
sensible of any thing but that greater comforts than had been
theirs for many painful months were now possessed ; but when
their strength became partially restored, when these comforts
became sufficiently familiar to admit of other thoughts, the
queen's fortitude began to waver. It was not the mere im-
pulse of the moment which caused her to urge her accompany-
ing her husband, on the plea of becoming more and more
unworthy of his love if separated from him. Margaret of Mar
was not born for a heroine ; more especially to act on such a
stormy stage as Scotland. Full of kindly feeling, of affection,
confidence, gentleness, one that would have drooped and died
had her 'doom been to pass through life unloved, her yielding
mind took its tone and coloring from those with whom she most
intimately associated ; not indeed from the rude and evil, for
from those she intuitively shrunk. Beneath her husband's in-
fluence, cradled in his love, her spirit received and cherished
the reflection of his strength ; of itself, she too truly felt it had
none ; and consequently when that beloved one was far away,
the reflection passed from her mind even as the gleam of his
armor from the mirror on which it glanced, and Margaret was
weak and timorous again. She had thought, and hoped, and
prayed, her unfeigned admiration of Isabella of Buchan, her
meek and beautiful appreciation of those qualities and candid

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 183

acknowledgment that such was the character most adapted to
her warrior husband, would bring more steadiness and courage
to her own woman breast. Alas ! the fearful fate which had
overtaken the heroic countess came with such a shock to the
weaker soul of Margaret, that if she had obtained any increase
of courage, it was at once annihilated, and the desponding fancy
entered her mind that if evil reached one so noble, so steadfast
in thought and in action, how might she hope to escape ; and
now, when weakened and depressed alike by bodily and mental
suffering, such fancies obtained so much possession of her that
she became more and more restless. The exertions of Sir Ni-
gel and his companions, even of her own friends, failed in rous-
ing or infusing strength. Sometimes it was vague conjectures
as to the fate of her husband, the dread that he had fallen into
the hands of his foes — a catastrophe which not only herself but
many stronger minds imagined could scarcely be avoided. She
would dwell on these fancies till suspense became intolerable ;
and then, if these were partially calmed, came personal fears :
the belief that if attacked the castle could not muster force
enough for defence ; suspicions of treachery in the garrison,
and other symptoms of the wavering nature of her mind, till
Sir Nigel felt too truly that if danger did come she would not
stay to meet it. Her wishes ever turned to the sanctuary of
St. Duthac in the domains of the Earl of Ross, believing the
sanctity of the place would be more effectual protection than
the strongest castle and bravest force. In vain Sir Nigel re-
monstrated, nay, assured her that the fidelity of the Lord of
Ross was impugned ; that he doubted his flattering overtures ;
that he was known to be in correspondence with England. But
he spoke in vain — the queen persisted in trusting him ; that he
had ever been a friend of her father and brother the Earls of
Mar, and he would be faithful to her interests now. Her opin-
ion weighed with many of the ladies of her court, even amongst
those who were not affected with her fears. At such times
Agnes never spoke, but there was a calm, quiet determination
in her expression that convinced the Lady Seaton, who alone
had leisure to observe her, that her resolution was already taken
and unalterable.

All that could be done to calm the queen's perturbed spirits
by way of amusement Sir Nigel did ; but his task was not an
easy one, and the rumor which about this time reached him,

184 THE DAYS OP BRUCE.

that the Earls of Hereford and Lancaster, with a very large
force, were rapidly advancing towards Aberdeenshire, did not
lessen its difficulties. He sought to keep the information as
long as possible from all his female charge, although the ap-
pearance of many terrified villagers flying from their homes to
the protection of the ,castle hardly enabled him to do so, and
confirmed without doubt the truth of what he had heard.
Nigel felt the moment of peril was approaching, and he nerved
both mind and frame to meet it. The weak terrors of the
queen and some of her train increased with every rumor, and,
despite every persuasion of Sir Nigel, Seaton, and other brave
and well-tried warriors, she rested not till a negotiation was
entered into with the Earl of Ross to grant them a safe conduct
through his lands, and permission to enter the sanctuary of St.
Duthac.

Perplexed with many sad thoughts, Nigel Bruce was one day
slowly traversing a long gallery leading to some uninhabited
chambers in the west wing of the building ; it was of different
architecture, and ruder, heavier aspect than the remainder of
the castle. Tradition said that those rooms had been the ori-
ginal building inhabited by an ancestor of the line of Bruce,
and the remainder had been gradually added to them ; that
some dark deed of blood had been there committed, and con-
sequently they were generally kept locked, none of the vassals
in the castle choosing to run the risk of meeting the spirits
which they declared abode there. We have before said that
Nigel was not superstitious, though his mind being of a cast
which, adopting and embodying the ideal, he was likely to be
supposed such. The particulars of the tradition he had never
heard, and consequently it was always with a smile of disbelief
he listened to the oft-repeated injunction not to walk at dusk
in the western turret. This warning came across him now, but
his mind was far otherwise engrossed, too much so indeed for
him even to give more than a casual glance to the rude portraits
which hung on either side the gallery.

He mistrusted the Earl of Ross, and there came a fear upon
his noble spirit that, in permitting the departure of the queen
and her attendants, he .might be liable to the censure of his
sovereign, that he was failing in his trust ; yet how was he to
act, how put a restraint upon his charge ? Had he indeed be-
lieved that the defence of the castle would be successful, that

THE DAYS OF BKUCK 185

he should be enabled to force the besiegers to raise the siege,
he might perhaps have felt justified in restraining the queen —
but he did not feel this. He had observed there were many
discontented and seditious spirits in the castle, not indeed in the
three hundred of his immediate followers ; but what were they
compared to the immense force now pouring over the country,
and whose goal he knew was Kildrummie ? The increase of
inmates also, from the number of small villages which had
emptied their inhabitants into his walls till he was compelled to"
prevent further ingress, must inevitably diminish his stores, and
when once blockaded, to replenish them would be impossible.
No personal fears, no weakness of purpose entered the high
soul of Nigel Bruce amid these painful cogitations. He well
knew no shade of dishonor could fall • on him ; he thought not
one moment of his own fate, although if the castle were taken
he knew death awaited him, either by the besieger's sword or
the hangman's cord, for he would make no condition ; he
thought only that this was well-nigh the last castle in his
brother's keeping, which, if lost, would in the present depressed
state of his affairs be indeed a fatal blow, and a still greater
triumph to England.

These thoughts naturally engrossed his mind to the exclusion
of all imaginative whisperings, and therefore was it that he
drew back the bolt of a door which closed the passage, without
any of those peculiar feelings that at a less anxious time might
have possessed him ; for souls less gifted than that of Nigel
Bruce can seldom enter a spot hallowed by tradition without
the electric thrill which so strangely unites the present with the
past.

It was a chamber of moderate dimensions to which the oaken
door admitted him, hung with coarse and faded tapestry, which,
disturbed by the wind, disclosed an opening into another pas-
sage, through which he pursued his way. In the apartment
on which the dark and narrow passage ended, however, his
steps were irresistibly arrested. It was panelled with black-
oak, of which the floor also was composed, giving the whole an
aspect calculated to infect the most thoughtless spirit with
gloom. Two high and very narrow windows, the small panes
of which were quite incrusted with dust, were the only conduct-
ors of light, with the exception of a loophole — for it could
scarcely be dignified by the name of casement — on the western

186 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

side. Through this loophole the red light of a declining winter
sun sent its rays, which were caught and stayed on what seem-
ed at the distance an antique picture-frame. Wondering to
perceive a picture out of its place in the gallery, Nigel hastily
advanced towards it, pausing, however, on his way to examine,
with some surprise, one of the planks in the floor, which, in-
stead of the beautiful black polish which age had rather height-
ened than marred in the rest, was rough and white, with all
the appearance of having been hewn and scraped by some
sharp instrument.

It is curious to mark how trifling a thing will sometimes
connect, arrange, and render clear as day to the mind all that
has before been vague, imperfect, and indistinct. It is like the
touch of lightning on an electric chain, link after link starts up
till we see the illumined whole. We have said Nigel had never
heard the particulars of the tradition; but he looked on that
misshapen plank, and in an instant a tale of blood and terror
weaved itself in his mind ; in that room the deed, whatever it
was, had been done, and from that plank the sanguine evidence
of murder had been with difficulty erased. A cold shuddering
passed over him, and he turned instinctively away, and strode
hastily to examine the frame which had attracted him. It did
contain a picture — we should rather say a portrait — for it com-
prised but one figure, the half-length of a youthful warrior,
clad in steel, save the beautifully-formed head, which was cov-
ered only by his own luxuriant raven curls. In a better light
it could not have been placed, particularly in the evening ; the
rays, condensed and softened, seemed to gather up their power
into one focus, and throw such an almost supernatural glow on
the half face, give such an extraordinary appearance of life
to the whole figure, that a casual visitant to that chamber
might well fancy it was no picture but reality on which he
gazed. But no such emotion was at work in the bosom of
Nigel Bruce, though his first glance upon that face occasioned
an almost convulsive start, and then a gaze of such intense,
such almost fearful interest, that he stood as if fascinated by
some overpowering spell. His features, worked with internal
emotions, flushed and paled alternately. It was no weak-
minded terror which bound him there, no mood in which a
step or sound could chill and startle, for so wrapt was he in his
own strange dreams that he heard not a slow and measured

THE DATS OF BEUCE. 187

step approach him ; he did not even start when he felt a hand
on his shoulder, and the melodious voice of the seer caused him
to turn slowly around.

" The warnings thou hast heard have no power on thee,
young lord," he said, slightly smiling, " or I should not see
thee here at this hour alone. Yet thou wert strangely wrapt."

" Knowest thou aught of him, good father ?" answered Ni-
gel, in a voice that to his own ears sounded hoarse and unnat-
ural, and turning his glance once again to the portrait. " My
thoughts are busy with that face and yon tale-telling plank ;
there are wild, feverish, incongruous dreams within me, and I
would have them solved. Thou of all others art best fitted to
the task, for amid the records of the past, where thou hast
loved to linger, thou hast surely found the tradition of this
tower. I shame not to confess there is in my heart a deep
yearning to learn the truth. Wherefore, when thy harp and
song have so pleasantly whiled the evening hours, did not this
tale find voice, good father?"

"Alas! my son, 'tis too fraught with horror, too sad for
gentle ears. A few stern, rugged words will best repeat it.
I love not to linger on the theme ; listen then now, and it shall
be told thee."

" In the reign of Malcolm the Second, the districts now called
Aberdeen and Forfar were possessed, and had been so, so tra-
dition saith, since Kenneth MacAlpine, by the Lords of Brus
or Bris, a family originally from the North. They were largely
and nobly connected, particularly with Norway and Gaul. It
is generally supposed the first possessions in Scotland held in
fief by the line of Bruce can be traced back only to the time
of David I., in the person of Robert de Bruce, an Anglo-Nor-
man baron, whose father came over to England with the Con-
queror. The cause of this supposition my tale will presently
explain.

" Haco Brus or Bris was the Lord of Aberdeen in the reign
of Malcolm the Second. He spent many years abroad, indeed,
was supposed to have married and settled there, when, to the
surprise of his vassals, he suddenly returned unmarried, and
soon after uniting himself with a beautiful and accomplished
girl, nearly related to the blood-royal of Scotland, settled
quietly in this tower, which was the stronghold of his posses-
sions. Years passed ; the only child of the baron, a son, born

188 THE DATS OF BKUCE.

in the first year of his marriage, grew up in strength and beauty,
the idol not only of his mother, but of his father, a man stern
and cold in seeming, even morose, but with passions fearful
alike in their influence and extent. Your eye glances to that
pictured face, he was not the baron's son of whom I speak.
The affections, nay, the very passions of the baron were cen-
tered in this boy. It is supposed pride and ambition were
their origin, for he looked, through his near connection with
the sovereign, for further aggrandizement for himself. There
were some who declared ambition was not the master-passion,
that a deeper, sterner, fiercer emotion dwelt within. Whether
they spoke thus from the sequel, I know not, but that sequel
proved their truth.

" There was a gathering of all the knightly and noble in
King Mal<jplm's court, not perchance for trials at arms resem-
bling the tournays of the present day, but very similar in their
motive and bearing, though ruder and more dangerous. The
wreath of glory and victory was ever given by the gentle hand
of beauty. Bright eyes and lovely forms presided at the sports
even as now, and the king and his highest nobles joined in the
revels.

" The wife of the Baron of Brus and his son, now a fine boy
of thirteen, were of course amongst the royal guests. Though
matron grace and dignified demeanor had taken the place of
the blushing charms of early girlhood, the Lady Helen Brus
was still very beautiful, and as the niece of the king and wife
of such a distinguished baron, commanded and received univer-
sal homage. Among the combatants was a youthful knight,
of an exterior and bearing so much more polished and graceful
than the sons of the soil or their more northern visitors, that he
was instantly recognized as coming from Gaul, then as now the
most polished kingdom of the south. Delighted with his
bravery, his modesty, and most chivalric bearing, the king
treated him with most distinguished honor, invited him to his
palace, spoke with him as friend with friend on the kingdoms
of Normandy and France, to the former of which he was sub-
ject. There was a mystery, too, about the young knight, which
heightened the interest he excited ; he bore no device on his
shield, no cognizance whatever to mark his name and birth ;
and his countenance, beautiful as it was, often when in repose
expressed sadness and care unusual to his years, for he was

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 189

still very young, though in reply to the king's solicitations that
he would choose one of Scotland's fairest maidens (her dower
should be princely), and make the Scottish court his home,
he had smilingly avowed that he was already a husband and
father.

" The notice of the king, of course, inspired the nobles with
similar feelings of hospitality. Attention and kindness were
lavished on the stranger from all, and nothing was talked of
but the nameless knight. The Lord of Brus, who had been
absent on a mission to a distant court during the continuance
of the martial games, was on his return presented by the king
himself to the young warrior. It is said that both were so
much moved by this meeting, that all present were mystified
still more. The baron, with that deep subtlety for which he
was remarkable, recovered himself the first, and accounted for
his emotion to the satisfaction of his hearers, though not ap-
parently to that of the stranger, who, though his cheek was
blanched, still kept his bright searching eyes upon him, till the
baron's quailed 'neath his gaze. The hundred tongues of
rumor chose to speak of relationship, that there was a likeness
between them, yet I know not how that could be. There is
no impress of the fiendish passion at work in the baron's soul
on those bright, beautiful features."

" Ha ! Is it of him you speak ?" involuntarily escaped from
Nigel, as the old man for a moment paused ; " of him ? Re-
thought yon portrait was of an ancestor of Bruce, or where-
fore is it here ?"

" Be patient, good my son. My narrative wanders, for my
lips shrink from its tale. That the baron and the knight met,
not in warlike joust but in peaceful converse, and at the request
of the latter, is known, but on what passed in that interview
even tradition is silent, it can only be imagined by the sequel ;
they appeared, however, less reserved than at first. The baron
treated him with the same distinction as his fellow-nobles, and
the stranger's manner towards him was even more respectful
than the mere difference of age appeared to demand. Impor-
tant business with the Lord of Brus was alleged as the cause
of his accepting that nobleman's invitation to the tower of Kil-
drummie, in preference to others earlier given and more eagerly
enforced. They departed together, the knight accompanied
but by two of his followers, and the baron leaving the greater

190 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

number of his in attendance on his wife and child, who, for
some frivolous reason, he left with the court. It was a strange
thing for him to do, men said, as he had never before been
known to lose sight of his boy even for a day. For some days
all seemed peace and hospitality within the tower. The stranger
was too noble himself, and too kindly disposed towards all his
fellow-creatures, to suspect aught of treachery, or he might
have remarked the retainers of the baron were changed ; that
ruder forms and darker visages than at first were gathering
around him. How the baron might have intended to make use
of them — almost all robbers and murderers by trade — cannot
be known, though it may be suspected. In this room the last
interview between them took place, and here, on this silent
witness of the deed, the hand of the father was bathed in the
blood of the son !"

" God in heaven !" burst from Nigel's parched lips, as he
sprung up. " The son — how could that be ? how known ?"

"Fearfully, most fearfully!" shudderingly answered the old
man ; " through the dying ravings of the maniac Lord of Brus
himself. Had not heaven, in its all-seeing justice, thus revealed
it, the crime would ever have remained concealed. His bandit
hirelings were at hand to remove and bury, many fathoms deep
in moat and earth, all traces of the deed. One of the unfor-
tunate knight's followers was supposed to have shared the fate
of his master, and to the other, who escaped almost miracu-
lously, you owe the preservation of your royal line.

" But there was one witness of the deed neither time nor
the most cunning art could efface. The blood lay in a pool on
the oaken floor, and the voice of tradition whispers that day
after day it was supernaturally renewed ; that vain were the
efforts to absorb it, it ever seemed moist and red ; and that to
remove the plank and re-floor the apartment was attempted
again and again in vain. However this may be, it is evident
that erasing it was attended with extreme difficulty ; that the
blood had penetrated well-nigh through the immense thickness
of the wood."

Nigel stooped down over the crumbling fragment ; years,
aye, centuries had rolled away, yet there it still stood, arrested
it seemed even in its decay, not permitted to crumble into dust,
but to remain an everlasting monument of crime and its retri-
bution. After a brief pause Nigel resumed his seat, and push-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 191

ing the hair from his brow, which was damp with some untold
emotion, signed to the old man to proceed.

" That the stranger warrior returned not to Malcolm's court,
and had failed in his promises to various friends, was a matter
of disappointment, and for a time, of conjecture to the king and
his court. That his followers, in obedience, it was said, to their
master's signet, set off instantly to join him either in England
or Normandy, for both of which places they had received
directions, satisfied the greater number. If others suspected
foul play, it was speedily hushed up ; for the baron was too
powerful, too closely related to the throne, and justice then too
weak in Scotland to permit accusation or hope for conviction.
Time passed, and the only change observable in the baron was,
that he became more gloomy, more abstracted, wrapt up, as it
were, in one dark remembrance, one all- engrossing thought.
Towards his wife he was changed — harsh, cold, bitterly sarcas-
tic ; as if her caresses had turned to gall. Her gentle spirit
sunk beneath the withering blight, and he was heard to laugh,
the mocking laugh of a fiend, as he followed her to the grave ;
her child, indeed, he still idolized, but it was a fearful affection,
and a just heaven permitted not its continuance. The child, to
whom many had looked as likely to ascend the Scottish throne,
from the failure of all direct heirs, the beautiful and innocent
child of a most guilty father, faded like a lovely flower before
him, so softly, so gradually, that there came no suspicion of
death till the cold hand was on his heart, and he lay lifeless
before him who had plunged his soul in deadliest crime through
that child to aggrandize himself. Then was it that remorse,
torturing before, took the form of partial madness, and there
was not one who had power to restrain, or guide, or soothe.

" Then it was the fearful tale was told, freezing the blood,
not so much with the wild madness of the tone, but that the
words were too collected, too stamped with truth, to admit of
aught like doubt. The couch of the baron was, at his own
command, placed here, where we now stand, covering the spot
where his first-born fell, and that portrait, obtained from Nor-
mandy, hung where it now is, ever in his sight. The dark tale
which those wild ravings revealed was simply this :

" He had married, as was suspected, during his wanderings,
but soon tired of the yoke, more particularly as his wife pos-
sessed a spirit proud and haughty as his own, and all efforts to

192 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

mould her to his will were useless, he plunged anew into his
reckless career. He had never loved his wife, marrying her
simply because it suited his convenience, and brought him in-
crease of wealth and station ; and her ill-disguised abhorrence
of many of his actions, her beautiful adherence to virtue, how-
ever tempted, occasioned all former feelings to concentrate in
hatred the most deadly. More than one attempt to rid himself
of her by poison she had discovered and frustrated, and at last
removed herself and her child, under a feigned name, to Nor-
mandy, and ably eluded all pursuit and inquiry.

" The baron's search continued some time, in the hope of si-
lencing her forever, as he feared she might prove a dangerous
enemy, but failing in his wishes, he travelled some time over
different countries, returned at length to Scotland, and acted
as we have seen. The young knight had been informed of his
birthright by his mother, at her death, which took place two
years before he made his appearance in Scotland ; that she had
concealed from him the fearful character of his father, being
unable so completely to divest herself of all feeling towards the
father of her child, as to make him an object of aversion to his
son. She had long told him his real name, and urged him to
demand from his father an acknowledgment of his being heir
to the proud barony of the Bruce. His likeness to herself was
so strong, that she knew it must carry conviction to his father ;
but to make his identity still more certain, she furnished him
with certain jewels and papers, none but herself could produce.
She had done this in the presence of two faithful witnesses, the
father and brother of her son's betrothed bride, high lords of
Normandy, the former of which made it a condition annexed to
his consent to the marriage, that as soon as possible afterwards
he should urge and claim his rights. Sir Walter, of course, wil-
lingly complied ; they were married by the name of Brus, and their
child so baptized. A war, which retained Sir Walter in arms
with his sovereign, prevented his seeking Scotland till his boy
was a year old, and then for his sake, far more than for his
own, the young father determined on asserting his birthright,
his child should not be nameless, as he had been ; but to spare
his unknown parent all public mortification, he joined the mar-
tial games without any cognizance or bearing on his shield.

" Terrible were the ravings in which the baron alluded to
the interview he had had with his murdered child ; the angelic

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 193

mildness and generosity of the youthful warrior ; that, amid all
his firmness never to depart from his claim — as it was not alone
himself but his child he would irreparably injure — he never
wavered in his respectful deference to his parent. He quitted
the court in the belief that the baron sought Kildrummie to
collect the necessary papers for substantiating his claim ; but
ere he died, it appeared his eyes were opened. The fierce pas-
sions of the baron had been too long restrained in the last in-
terview ; they burst even his politic control, and he had flung
the papers received from the hand of his too-confiding son on
the blazing hearth, and with dreadful oaths swore that if he
would not instantly retract his claim, and bind himself by the
most sacred promise never to breathe the foul tale again,
death should be its silent keeper. He would not bring his own
head low, and avow that he had dishonored a scion of the
blood-royal.

" Appalled far more at the dark, fiendish passions he beheld
than the threat held out to himself, Sir Walter stood silent
a while, and then mildly demanded to be heard ; that if so much
public mortification to his parent would attend the pursuance
of his claims at the present time, he would consent to forego
them, on condition of his father's solemnly promising on his
deathbed to reveal the truth, and do him tardy justice then,
but forego them altogether he would not, were his life the
forfeit. The calm firmness of his tone, it is supposed, lashed
his father into greater madness, and thus the dark deed was
done.

" That the baron several times endeavored to possess himself
of the infant child of Sir Walter, also came to light in his dying
moments ; that he had determined to exterminate root and
branch, fearful he should still possess some clue to his birth ;
he had frantically avowed, but in his last hour, he would have
given all his amassed treasure, his greatness, his power, but for
one little moment of assurance that his grandson lived. He
left him all his possessions, his lordship, his name, but as there
were none came forth to claim, they of necessity passed to the
crown."

" But the child, the son of Sir Walter — if from him our line
descends, he must have lived to manhood — why did not he de-
mand his rights ?"

" He lived, aye, and had a goodly progeny ; but the fearful

9

194 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

tale of his father's fate related to him again and again by the
faithful Edric, who had fled from his master's murdered corse
to watch over the safety of that master's child, and warn all
who had the charge of him of the fiend in human shape who
would probably seek the boy's life as he had his father's, caused
him to shun the idea of his Scottish possessions with a loathing
horror which he could not conquer ; they were associated with
the loss of both his parents, for his father's murder killed his
devoted mother. He was contented to feel himself Norman
in possessions as well as in name. He received lands and hon-
ors from the Dukes of Normandy, and at the advanced age of
seventy and five, accompanied Duke William to England. The
third generation from him obtained anew Scottish possessions,
and gradually Kildrummie and its feudal tenures returned to
its original lords ; but the tower had been altered and enlarged,
and except the tradition of these chambers, the fearful fate of
the second of the line has faded from the minds of his descend-
ants, unless casually or supernaturally recalled."

" Ha ! supernaturally, sayest thou ?" interrupted Nigel, in a
tone so peculiar it almost startled his companion. " Are there
those who assert they have seen his semblance — good, gifted,
beautiful as thou hast described him ? why not at once deem
him the guardian spirit of our house ?"

" And there are those who deem him so, young lord," an-
swered the seer. " It is said that until the Lords of Bruce
again obtained possession of these lands, in the visions of the
night the form of the murdered warrior, clad as in yon portrait,
save with the addition of a scarf across his breast bearing the
crest and cognizance of the Bruce, appeared once in his lifetime
to each lineal descendant. Such visitations are said to have
ceased, and he is now only seen by those destined like himself
to an early and bloody death, cut off in the prime of manhood,
nobleness, and joy."

" And where — sleeping or waking ?" demanded the young
nobleman, in a low, deep tone, laying his hand on the minstrel's
arm, and looking fixedly on his now strangely agitated face.

" Sleeping or waking ? it hath been both," he answered, and
his voice faltered. " If it be in the front of the war, amid the
press, the crush, the glory of the battle, he hath come, circled
with bright forms and brighter dreams, to the sleeping warrior
on the eye of his last fight ; if" — and his voice grew lower and

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 195

.huskier yet — " if by the red hand of the foe, by the captive's
chain and headsman's axe, as the noble Wallace, there have
been those who say — I vouch not for its truth — he hath been
seen in the vigils of the night on the eve of knighthood, when
the young, aspiring warrior hath watched and prayed beside
his arms. Boy ! boy ! why dost thou look upon me thus ?"

" Because thine eye hath read my doom," he said, in a firm,
sweet tone ; " and if there be aught of truth in thy tale, thou
knowest, feelest I have seen him. God of mercy, the captive's
chain, the headsman's axe ! Yet 'tis Thy will, and for my
country — let it come."

CHAPTER XVII.

" THOU art idle, maiden ; wherefore not gather thy robes
and other gear together, as thy companions ? Knowest thou
not in twenty-four hours we shall be, heaven willing, safely
sheltered under the holy wing of St. Duthac ?" was Queen
Margaret's address to Agnes, about a week after the conversa-
tion we have recorded. There were many signs of confusion
and tokens of removal in her scanty train, but the maiden of
Buchan stood apart, offering assistance when needed, but mak-
ing no arrangements for herself.

" I seek not such holy keeping, may it please you, madam,"
she replied. " I do not quit this castle."

" How !" exclaimed Margaret. " Art thou mad ?"

" In what, royal madam ?"

" Or hath love blinded thee, girl ? Knowest thou not Here-
ford and Lancaster are advancing as rapidly as their iron-clad
force permits, and in less than seven days the castle must be
besieged in form ?" t

" I know it, madam."

" And thou wilt brave it, maiden ? — dare a danger that may
be avoided ? Is thy life of so little worth, or if not thy life,
thy liberty ?"

" When a life is wrapt up in one — when there is none on
earth save that one to whom that life is of any worth, where-
fore should I seek safety save by his side ? Royal madam, I

196 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

am not mad nor blind ; but desolate as I am, — nay, were I not
'twould be the same — I covet to share Sir Nigel's fate ; the
blow that strikes him shall lay me at his side, be it in prison or
in death. My safety is with him ; and were the danger ten
times as great as that which threatens now, I'd share it with
him still."

" Nay, thou art but a loving fool, Agnes. Be advised, seek
safety in the sanctuary ; peril cannot reach us there."

" Save by the treachery of the dark-browed earl who grants
that shelter. Nay, pardon me, madam ; thou lovest not to list
that theme, believing him as honorable and faithful as thyself.
God grant he prove so ! If," she added, with a faint smile, " if
it be such mad folly to cling to a beloved one in danger as in
joy, in adversity as in triumph, forgive me, royal lady, but thy
maidens have learned that tale of thee."

" And would to God I could teach them thus again !" ex-
claimed the queen, tears coursing down her cheeks. " Oh,
Agnes, Agnes, were Robert here, not death itself should part
us. For my child's sake, for his, I go hence for safety. Could
my resting, nay, my death benefit him, Agnes, I would meet it,
weak as thou deemest me."

"Nay, nay, I doubt it not, my queen," answered Agnes,
soothingly. " It is best thou shouldst find some place of re-
pose till this struggle be past. If it end in victory, it will be
joy to hail thee once again within its walls ; if otherwise, better
thy safety should be cared for."

"But for thee, my child, is it not unmaidenly for thee to
linger here ?"

" It would be, royal madam," and a bright vivid flush glowed
on her pale cheeks, " but for the protection of the Lady Seaton,
who will not leave her husband."

" I may not blame her, after mine own words," said the
queen, sorrowfully ; " yet she is one I could have wished be-
side me. Ha ! that trumpet. Merciful heaven ! is it the foe ?"
and trembling with alarm, she dispatched attendant after at-
tendant to know the cause.

The English force was known to be so near that many a
warrior-heart beat quicker at any unusual blast, and it was not
marvel the queen's terrors shomld very often affect her attend-
ants. Agnes alone, amid the maiden train, ever retained a
calm self-possession ; strange in one who, till the last eventful

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 197

year, had seemed such a very child. Her mother trembled
lest the turmoils and confusion of her country should ever ap-
proach her or those she loved ; how might she, timid, nay,
often fearful, weak, and yielding, as the flower on the heath,
how might she encounter storm, and grief, and care ? Had
her mother's eye been on her now, and could have followed
her in yet deeper trials, that mother scarce had known her
child.

She it was whose coolness enabled her easily to recognize
and explain the trumpet's blast. It was an officer with an es-
cort from the Lord of Ross, informing the queen that, from late
intelligence respecting the movements of the English, he deemed
it better they should not defer their departure from the castle
another night.

On the receipt of this message all was increased hurry and
confusion in the apartments of the queen. The advice was to
be followed on the instant, and ere sunset the litters and mules,
and other accommodation for the travellers, waited their pleas-
ure in the outer court.

It was with a mien of princely dignity, a countenance grave
and thoughtful, with which the youthful seneschal attended
the travellers to the great gate of the castle. In after years
the expression of his features flashed again and again upon
those who looked upon him them. Calmly he bade his sister-
in-law farewell, and bade her, should she be the first to see his
brother, tell him that it was at her own free will and pleasure
she thus departed ; that neither advice nor persuasion on his
part had been used ; she had of her own will released him
from his sacred charge ; and if ill came of it, to free his mem-
ory from blame.

" Trust me, Nigel ; oh, surely you may trust me ! You will
not part from me in anger at my wilfulness ?" entreated Marga-
ret, as clinging to his arm, she retained him a few minutes ere
he placed her in the litter.

"In anger, my sweet sister, nay, thou wrongest me!" he
said, a bright smile dispersing a moment the pensive cast of
his features. " In sorrow, perchance, for I love not him to
whose care thou hast committed thyself ; yet if ill await this
castle, and thou wert with me, 'twould enhance its bitterness.
No, tis better thou shouldst go ; though I would it were not to
the Lord of Ross."

198 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

"And wherefore?" demanded the deep stern voice of the
officer beside him.

" Because I doubt him, Archibald Macfarlane," sternly re-
plied the young nobleman, fixing his flashing eyes upon him ;
" and thou mayst so inform him an thou wilt. An I do him
wrong, let him deliver the Queen of Scotland and her attend-
ants in safety to King Robert, in the forthcoming spring, and
Nigel Bruce will crave forgiveness for the wrong that he hath
done him ; nay, let his conduct give my doubts the lie, and I
will even thank him, sir."

Turning on his heel, he conducted the queen to her litter,
and bade a graceful farewell to all her fair companions, bidding
good angels speed them on their way. The heavy gates were
thrown back, the portcullis raised and the draw-bridge lowered,
and amid a parting cheer from the men-at-arms drawn up in
the court in military homage to their queen, the cavalcade de-
parted, attended only by the men of Ross, for the number of
the garrison was too limited to admit of their attendance any-
where, save within and on the walls.

With folded arms and an anxious brow, Sir Nigel stood be-
side the gate, marking the progress of the train; a gentle
voice aroused him. It playfully said, "Come to the highest
turret, Nigel, there thou wilt trace their path as long as light
remains." He started, for Agnes was at his side. He drew
her arm within his own, briefly gave the command to close the
gate and make all secure, and turned with her in the direction
of the keep.

" Have I done right," he said, as, when they had reached a
more retired path, he folded his arm caressingly around her,
and drew her closer to him, " to list thy pleadings, dearest, to
grant thy boon ? oh, if they go to safety, why did I listen to
thee and permit thee to remain ?"

" Nay, there is equal safety within these walls, Nigel. Be
assured, thine Agnes hath neither regret nor doubt when thou
art by her side," she answered, still playfully. " I love not
the sanctuaries they go to seek ; the stout hearts and trusty
blades of warriors like thee and thine, my Nigel, are better and
truer safeguards."

" Alas ! Agnes, I fear me not in cases such as these. I am
not wont to be desponding, but from the small number of true
men which garrison this castle, I care not to acknowledge I

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 199

had loved better to meet my foe on open ground. Here I can
scarce kno\v friend from foe ; traitors may be around me, nay,
in my very confidence, and I know it not."

" Art thou not infected with Queen Margaret's suspicions,
Nigel ? Why ponder on such uneasy dreams ?"

" Because, my best love, I am a better adept in the perusal
of men's countenances and manners than many, and there are
signs of lowering discontent and gloomy cowardice, arguing ill
for unity of measures, on which our safety greatly rests. Yet
my fancies may be wrong, and at all hazards my duty shall be
done. The issue is in the hands of a higher power ; we cannot
do wrong in committing ourselves to Him, for thou knowest
He giveth not the battle to the strong, and right and justice
we have on Scotland's side."

Agnes looked on his face, and she saw, though he spoke
cheerfully, his thoughts echoed not his words. She would not
express her own anxiety, but led him gently to explain to her
his plan of defence, and prepare her for all she might have to
encounter.

Five days passed, and all within and without the walls re-
mained the same ; the sixth was the Sabbath, and the greater
part of the officers and garrison were assembled in the chapel,
where divine service was regularly read by the Abbot of Scone,
whom we should perhaps before have mentioned as having, at
the king's especial request, accompanied the queen and her at-
tendants to Kildrummie. It was a solemn yet stirring sight,
that little edifice, filled as it was with steel-clad warriors and
rude and dusky forms, now bending in one prayer before their
God. The proud, the lowly, the faithless, and the true, the
honorable and the base, the warrior, whose whole soul burned
and throbbed but for his country and his king, the coward,
whose only thought was how he could obtain life for himself
and save the dread of war by the surrender of the castle — one
and all knelt there, the workings of those diverse hearts known
but to Him before whom they bent. Strangely and mournfully
did that little group of delicate females gleam forth amidst the
darker and harsher forms around, as a knot of fragile flowers
blooming alone, and unsheltered amidst some rude old forest
trees, safe in their own lowliness from the approaching tempest,
but liable to be overwhelmed in the fall of their companions,
whom yet they would not leave. As calmly as in his own ab-

200 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

bey the venerable abbot read the holy service, and administered
the rites of religion to all who sought. It was in the deep si-
lence of individual prayer which preceded the chanting of the
conclusion of the service that a shrill, peculiar blast of a trumpet
was heard. On the instant it was recognized as the bugle of
the warder stationed on the centre turret of the keep, as the
blast which told the foe was at length in sight. Once, twice,
thrice it sounded, at irregular intervals, even as Nigel had com-
manded ; the notes were caught up by the warders on the
walls, and repeated again and again. A sudden cry of " The
foe !" broke from the soldiers scattered round, and again all
was silence. There had been a movement, almost a confusion
in some parts of the church, but the officers and those who had
followed them from the mountains neither looked up nor stirred.
The imperative gesture of the abbot commanded and retained
order and silence, the service proceeded ; there might have been
some faltering in the tones of the choir, but the swelling notes
of the organ concealed the deficiency.

The eye of Agnes voluntarily sought her betrothed. His
head was still bent down in earnest prayer, but she had not
looked long before she saw him raise it, and lift up his clasped
hands in the evident passionate fervor of his prayer. So beau-
tiful, so gloriously beautiful was that countenance thus breath-
ing prayer, so little seemed that soul of earth, that tears started
to the eyes of Agnes, and the paleness of strong emotion over-
spread the cheek, aye, and the quivering lip, which the war
and death-speaking trumpet had had no power to disturb.

" Let me abide by him, merciful Father, in weal or in woe ;
oh, part us not!" she prayed again and yet again, and the
bright smile which now encircled his lips — for he had caught
her glance — seemed an answer to her prayer.

It was a beautiful, though perhaps to many of the inmates
of Kildrummie a terrible sight, which from the roof of the tur-
ret now presented itself to their view. The English force lay
before them, presenting many a solid phalanx of steel, many a
glancing wood of spears. Nor were these all ; the various
engines used in sieges at this time, battering-rams, and others,
whose technical names are unfortunately lost to us, but used to
fling stones of immense weight to an almost incredible distance ;
arbalists, and the incomparable archer, who carried as many
lives as arrows in his belt ; wagons, heavily laden, with all

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 201

things necessary for a close and numerous encampment — all
these could be plainly distinguished in rapid advance towards
the castle, marking their path through the country by the
smoke of the hamlets they had burned. Many and eager
voices resounded in various parts of the castle ; numbers had
thronged to the tower, with their own eyes to mark the ap-
proach of the enemy, and to report all they had seen to their
companions below, triumphantly or despondingly, according to
the temper of their minds. Sir Nigel Bruce and Sir Christo-
pher Seaton, with others of the superior officers, stood a little
apart, conversing eagerly and animatedly, and finally separating,
with an eager grasp of the hand, to perform the duties intrust-
ed to each.

" Ha ! Christine, and thou, fair maiden," exclaimed Sir Chris-
topher, gayly, as on turning he encountered his wife and Agnes
arm-in-arm. " By mine honor, this is bravely done ; ye will
not wait in your tiring-bower till your knights seek ye, but
come for information yourselves. Well, 'tis a goodly company,
is't not ? as gallant a show as ever mustered, by my troth.
Those English warriors tacitly do us honor, and proclaim our
worth by the numbers of gallant men they bring against us.
We shall return the compliment some day, and pay them sim-
ilar homage."

His wife smiled at his jest, and even felt reassured, for it
was not the jest of a mind ill at ease, it was the same bluff,
soldier spirit she had always loved.

" And, Nigel, what thinkest thou ?"

" Think, dearest ?" he said, answering far more the appeal-
ing look of Agnes than her words ; " think ? that we shall do
well, aye, nobly well ; they muster not half the force they led
me to expect. The very sight of them has braced me with
new spirit, and put to ignominious flight the doubts and dreams
I told thee had tormented me."

Movement and bustle now pervaded every part of the castle,
but all was conducted with an order and military skill that spoke
well for the officers to whom it was intrusted. The walls were
manned ; pickaxes and levers, for the purposes of hurling down
stones on the besiegers, collected and arranged on the walls ;
arms polished, and so arranged that the hand might grasp
them at a minute's warning, were brought from the armory
to every court and tower ; the granaries and storehouses were

9*

202 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

visited, and placed under trustworthy guards. A band of
picked men, under an experienced officer, threw themselves
into the barbacan, determined to defend it to the last. Sir
Nigel and Sir Christopher visited every part of the outworks,
displaying the most unceasing care, encouraged the doubting,
roused the timid, and cheered and inspired the boldest with
new confidence, new hope ; but one feeling appeared to pre-
dominate— liberty and Scotland seemed the watchword of one
and all.

Onward, like a mighty river, rolled the English force ; near-
er and nearer, till the middle of the second day saw them en-
camped within a quarter of a mile from the palisades and out-
works raised on either side of the barbacan. Obtaining easy
possession of the river — for Sir Nigel, aware of the great dis-
parity of numbers, had not even attempted its defence — they
formed three distinct bodies round the walls, the strongest and
noblest setting down before the barbacan, as the principal point
of attack. Numerous as they had appeared in the distance,
well provided with all that could forward their success, it was
not till closer seen all their strength could be discovered ; but
there was no change in the hopes and gallant feelings of the
Scottish officers and their men-at-arms, though, could hearts
have been read, the timidity, the doubts, the anxious wishes to
make favorable peace with the English had in some of the ori-
ginal garrison alarmingly increased.

Before, however, any recourse was made to arms, an English
herald, properly supported, demanded and obtained admission
within the gates, on a mission from the Earls of Hereford and
Lancaster, to Sir Christopher Seaton, Sir Nigel Bruce, and
others of command. They were summoned to deliver up the
castle and themselves to their liege lord and sovereign, King
Edward ; to submit to his mercy, and grace should be shown
to them, and safe conduct granted to all those who, taking ref-
uge within the walls and adopting a position of defence, pro-
claimed themselves rebels and abettors of rebellion ; that they
should have freedom to return to their homes uninjured, not
only in their persons but in their belongings ; and this should
be on the instant the gates were thrown open, and the bannei
of England had taken the place of that of Scotland now float-
ing from their keep.

" Tell thy master, thou smooth-tongued knave," burst an-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 203

grily from the lips of Sir Christopher Seaton, as he half rose
from his seat and clenched his mailed hand at the speaker, and
then hastily checking himself, added, in a lower tone, " Answer
him, Nigel ; thou hast eloquence at thy command, I have none,
save at my sword's point, and my temper is somewhat too hot
to list such words, courteous though they may be."

" Tell your master, sir herald," continued Nigel, rising as his
colleague flung himself back on his seat, and though his voice
was sternly calm, his manner was still courteous. " tell them
they may spare themselves the trouble, and their followers the
danger, of all further negotiation. We are Scottish men and
Scottish subjects, and consequently to all the offers of England
we are as if we heard not. Neither rebels nor abettors of reb-
els, we neither acknowledge the necessity of submitting our-
selves to a tyrant's mercy, nor desire the advantage of his
offered grace. Return, sir herald ; we scorn the conditions
proposed. We are here for Scotland and for Scotland's king,
and for them we know both how to live and how to die."

His words were echoed by all around him, and there was a
sharp clang of steel, as if each man half drew his eager sword,
which spoke yet truer than mere words. Dark brows and fea-
tures stern were bent upon the herald as he left their presence,
and animated council followed his departure.

No new movement followed the return of the herald. For
some days no decisive operation was observable in the English
force ; and when they did attack the outworks, it was as if more
to pass the time than with any serious intent. It was a period
of fearful suspense to the besieged. Their storehouses were
scarcely sufficiently provided to hold out for any great length
of time, and they almost imagined that to reduce them to ex-
tremities by famine was the intention of the besiegers. The
greatest danger, if encountered hand to hand in the m£tee, was
welcome, but the very idea of a slow, lingering fate, with the
enemy before them, mocking their misery, was terrible to the
bravest. A daring sally into the very thickest of the enemy's
camp, headed by Nigel and his own immediate followers, car-
rying all before them, and when by numbers compelled to re-
treat, bearing both booty and prisoners with them, roused the
English from their confident supposition that the besieged would
soon be obliged to capitulate, and urged them into action. The
ire of the haughty English blazed up at what seemed such dar-

204: THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

ing insolence in their petty foe. Decisive measures were resort-
ed to on the instant, and increased bustle appeared to pervade
both besiegers and besieged.

" Pity thou art already a knight, Nigel !" bluffly exclaimed
Seaton, springing into his saddle by torchlight the following
morning, as with a gallant band he was about dashing over the
drawbridge, to second the defenders of the barbacan and pali-
sades. " How shall we reward thee, my boy ? Thou hast
brought the foe to bay. Hark ! they are there before me,"
and he spurred on to the very centre of the m&l&c,

Sir Nigel was not long after him. The enemy was driven
back with fearful loss. Scaling-ladders were thrown down ;
the archers on the walls, better accustomed to their ground,
marking their foes by the torches they carried, but concealed
themselves by the darkness, dealt destruction with as unerring
hand as their more famous English brethren. Shouts and cries
rose on either side ; the English bore back before the sweeping-
stroke of Nigel Bruce as before the scythe of death. For the
brief space of an hour the strife lasted, and still victory was on
the side of the Scots — glorious victory, purchased with scarce
the loss of ten men. The English fled back to their camp, leav-
ing many wounded and dead on the field, and some prisoners
in the hands of the Scots. Ineffectual efforts were made to
harass the Scots, as with a daring coolnefes seldom equalled,
they repaired the outworks, and planted fresh palisades to sup-
ply those which had fallen in the strife, in the very face of the
English, many of them coolly detaching the arrows which, shot
at too great distance, could not penetrate the thick lining of
their buff coats, and scornfully flinging them back. Several
sharp skirmishes took place that day, both under the walls and
at a little distance from them ; but in all the Scots were victo-
rious, and when night fell all was joy and triumph in the castle ;
shame, confusion, and fury in the English camp.

For several days this continued. If at any time the English,
by superiority of numbers, were victorious, they were sure to
be taken by surprise by an impetuous sally from the besieged,
and beaten back with loss, and so sudden and concealed were
the movements of Nigel and Seaton, that though the besiegers
lay closer and closer round the castle, the moment of their set-
ting forth on their daring expeditions could never be discovered.
" Said I not we should do well, right well, sweet Agnes,"

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 205

exclaimed Nigel, one night, on his return from an unusually
successful sally, " and are not my words true ? Hast thou look-
ed forth on the field to-day, and seen how gloriously it went ?
Oh, to resign this castle to my brother's hands unscathed, even
as he intrusted it ; to hold it for him, threatened as it is !"

He smiled gayly as he spoke, for the consciousness of power
was upon him — power to will and do, to win and to retain —
that most blessed consciousness, whether it bless a hero's breast
or poet's soul, a maiden's heart or scholar's dream, this check-
ered world can know.

" I did look forth, my Nigel, for I could not rest ; yet ask
me not to tell thee how the battle went," she added, with a
faint flush, as she looked up in his noble face, beaming as it was
with every feeling dear to the heart that loved, " for I traced
but the course of one charger, saw but the waving of one
plume."

" And thou didst not fear the besiegers' arrows, my beloved ?
Didst stand in the shelter I contrived ? Thou must not risk
danger, dearest ; better not list the urgings of thy noble spirit
than be aught exposed."

" There was no danger, Nigel, at least there seemed none,"
she said. " I felt no fear, for I looked on thee."

CHAPTER XVIII.

HAD the gallant defenders of Kildrummie Castle been con-
scious that the at first dilatory and then uncertain measures of
their foes originated in the fact that the Earls of Hereford and
Lancaster were not themselves yet on the field, and that they
had with them a vast addition to their forces, they would not
perhaps have rested so securely on the hopes which their un-
expected success very naturally engendered. Attack on one
side they knew they could resist ; their only dread had been
that, from the numbers of the English, the angle towers, each
of which covered a postern, might be attacked at once, and thus
discover the real weakness of their forces. The obstinate strug-
gle for the barbacan, the strongest point of the castle, had been
welcomed with joy by the Scotch, for there they could overlook

206 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

every movement of the besiegers. Some wonder it did cause
that such renowned knights as the earls were known to be,
should not endeavor to throw them off their guard by a division
of attack ; but this wonder could not take from the triumph of
success.

It was from no want of observation the absence of the two
earls remained undiscovered by the besieged. Engaged on a
secret expedition, whose object will be seen in the sequel, they
had commanded the message demanding surrender to be given
in their names, their pavilions to be pitched in sight of the cas-
tle as if they were already there, their banners to wave above
them, esquires and pages to be in attendance, and their war-cries
to be shouted, as was the custom when they led on in person.
The numerous knights, clothed in bright armor from head to
heel ever traversing the field, assisted the illusion, and the
Scotch never once suspected the truth.

Imagining a very brief struggle would deliver the castle into
their hands, even if its garrison were mad enough to refuse com-
pliance with King Edward's terms, the earls had not hurried
themselves on their expedition, and a fortnight after the siege
had begun, were reposing themselves very cavalierly in the
stronghold of an Anglo-Scottish baron, some thirty miles south-
ward of the scene of action.

It was the .hour of supper, a rude repast of venison, inter-
spersed with horn and silver flagons filled with the strong
liquors of the day, and served up in a rude hall, of which the
low round arches in the roof, the massive walls without but-
tresses, and windows running small outside, but spreading as to
become much larger within, all denoted the Saxon architecture
unsoftened by any of the Norman improvements.

The earls and their host, with some attendant knights, sat as
usual round the dais or raised part of the hall, their table dis-
tinguished it may be by some gold as well as silver vessels, and
a greater variety of liquor, particularly hypocras and claret of
the day, the one formed of wine and honey, the other of wine
and spices ; by the sinnel and wastel cakes, but certainly not by
the superior refinement of the more solid food. The huge sil-
ver saltcellar alone divided the table of the baron from that of
his dependants, yet the distinction of sitting above and below
the salt was as great as the division between the master and
servant of the present day ; the jest, the loud laugh seasoned

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 207

the viands placed before them, and the hearty draught from the
welcome flagon. Nor was the baron's own table much quieter ;
remarks on the state of the country, speculations as to the hid-
ing-place of King Robert, and when they should receive tidings
of the surrender of Kildrummie, formed topics of conversation
alternately with discussions on the excellence of the wines, the
flavor of the venison, the difference between English and Scot-
tish cookery, and such like matters, important in the days of
our ancestors as in our own.

" You have ridden long enough to-day, good my lords, to
make a hearty charge on your suppers ; a long journey and a
tough battle, commend me to them for helps to the appetite,"
said the Scottish baron, joyously inviting them by his own ex-
ample to eat on and spare not.

" Commend me to the latter, an ye will," answered Here-
ford, on whose brow a cloud of something like distaste had
spread ; " but by mine honor, I love not the business of the
last week. I have brought it to a close, however, and praise
the saints for it."

" Bah ! thou art over-squeamish, Hereford. Edward would
give us the second best jewel in his chaplet for the rich prize
we have sent him," resumed Lancaster.

" Reserving the first, of course, for the traitor Bruce himself,"
interposed their host. "Ah! such a captive were in truth
worth an earldom."

" Then, by my troth, the traitor's wife is worth a barony,"
returned Lancaster, laughing ; " and her fair bevy of attend-
ants, amongst whom are the wives, daughters, and sisters of
many a rebel, thinkest thou not we shall be high in Edward's
favor for them, too ? I tell thee we might have fought many
a good fight, and not have done him such good service."

" It may be, it may be," answered Hereford, impatiently ;
" had it been at the sword's point, had they been prisoners by
force of arms, I would have joyed too, and felt it was good ser-
vice ; but such rank treachery, decoyed, entrapped by that foul
prince of lies, the Lord of Ross — faugh ! I could have rammed
his treachery back into his throat."

" And done the king, perchance, good service too," rejoined
Lancaster, still excessively amused, " for I have no faith in a
traitor, however he may serve us a while ; yet thou art not
over- wise, good friend, to let such trifles chafe thee thus. Trust

208 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

me, Edward will think more of the captives than the cap-
ture."

" There was a time he would not," answered the earl, mourn-
fully ; " a time, when Edward would have held it foul scorn to
war with women, and worse than scorn to obtain their persons
by treachery, as now."

" Aye, but he has changed, and we must change too, would
we please him," said the baron ; " such notions might have
done in former days, but they are too high-flown for the pres-
ent time, my good lord. I marvel they should have lingered
so long with thee."

A frown gathered on Hereford's broad and noble brow, but
remembering the forbearance due to his host, he checked an
angry reply. " The king has changed," he said, " darkly and
painfully changed ; ambition has warped the noblest, knightli-
est heart which ever beat for chivalry."

" Hush, ere thou speakest treason, Sir Earl ; give me not the
pain of draining another flagon of this sparkling hypocras to
gain strength for thine arrest, good friend," exclaimed Lancas-
ter, laying the flat of his sword on the earl's shoulder.

Hereford half smiled. " Thou art too happy in thy light-
hearted mirth for me to say aught that would so disturb it,"
he said ; " yet I say, and will say again, would to heaven, I
had been before the gates of Kildrummie, and left to thee all
the honor and glory, an thou wilt, of this capture."

" Honor and glory, thou bitter piece of satire !" rejoined
Lancaster, holding up a large golden flagon to hide his face
from the earl. " Unhappy me, were this all the glory I could
win. I will wipe away the stain, if stain there be, at Kildrum-
mie, an it be not surrendered ere we reach it."

" The stain is with the base traitor Ross, not with thee or
me," answered Hereford ; " 'tis that I abhor the nature of such
expeditions, that I loathe, aye, loathe communication with such
as he, and that — if it can be — that worse traitor Buchan, that
makes me rejoice I have naught before me now but as fair a field
as a siege may be. Would to God, this devastating and most
cruel war were over, I do say ! on a fair field it may be borne,
but not to war with women and children, as has been my fate."

" Aye, by ^the way, this is not the first fair prize thou hast
sent to Edward ; the Countess of Buchan was a rare jewel for
our coveting monarch — somewhat more than possession, there

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 209

was room for vengeance there. Bore she her captivity more
queenly than the sobbing and weeping Margaret ?"

The question was reiterated by most of the knights around
the dais, but Hereford evidently shrunk from the inquiry.

" Speak not of it, I charge ye," he said. " There is no room
for jesting on grief as hers ; majestic and glorious she was, but
if the reported tale be true, her every thought, her every feel-
ing was, as I even then imagined, swallowed up in one tearless
and stern but all-engrossing anguish."

" The reported tale ! meanest thou the fate of her son ?"
asked one of the knights.

" If it be true !" resumed another ; " believest thou, my lord,
there is aught of hope to prove it false ?"

"More likely to be true than false," added Lancaster; "I
can believe any thing of that dark scowling villain Buchan —
even the murder of his child."

" I believe it not" answered Hereford ; " bad as that man is,
hard in heart as in temper, he has too much policy to act thus,
even if he had no feelings of nature rising to prevent it. No,
no ; I would wager the ruby brooch in my helmet that boy
lives, and his father will make use of him to forward his own
interests yet."

" But why then forge this tale ?" demanded their host ;
" how may that serve his purpose ?"

"Easily. enough, with regard to the vengeance we all know
he vowed to wreak on his unhappy wife. What deeper misery
could he inflict upon her than the belief her boy was murdered ?
and as for its effect on Edward, trust a Comyn to make his own
way clear."

" But what do with the boy meanwhile ?"

" Keep him under lock and key ; chained up, may be, as a
dog in a kennel, till he has broken his high spirit, and moulds
him to the tool he wills," answered Hereford, " or at least till
his mother is out of his path."

" Ha ! thinkest thou the king will demand such sweeping
vengeance ? He surely will not sentence a woman to death."

" Had I thought so, had I only dreamed so," replied Here-
ford, with almost startling sternness, " as there is a God above
us, I would have risked the charge of treason and refused to
give her up ! But no, my lords, no ; changed as Edward is,
he would not, he dared not use his power thus. I meant but

210 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

imprisonment, when I said out of the boy's path — more he will
not do ; but even such I love not. Bold as it was to crown
the rebel Bruce, the deed sprung from a noble heart, and noble
deeds should meet with noble judgment."

A bugle sounded twice or thrice sharply without, and occa-
sioning some bustle at the lower part of the hall, interrupted
for a brief space the converse of the lords. A few minutes
after, the seneschal, attended by two or three higher servants,
returned, marshalling in due form two young men in the garb
of esquires, followed by some fifteen or twenty men-at-arms.

" Ha ! Fitz-Ernest and Hugo ; well met, and ye bring us
good tidings from Kildrummie," exclaimed both the English
earls at on.ce, as cap in hand the esquires slowly walked up the
hall, and did obeisance to their masters.

" Yet your steps are somewhat laggard, an they bring us
news of victory. By my troth, were it not utterly impossible,
I could deem ye had been worsted in the strife," continued the
impatient Lancaster, while the cooler and more sagacious Here-
ford scanned the countenances of the esquires in silence. " Yet
and ye come not to tell of victory, why have ye come at all ?"

" To beseech your lordship's speedy return to the camp,"
replied Fitz-Ernest, after a moment's hesitation, his cheek still
flushed from his master's words. " There is division of pur-
pose and action in the camp, and an ye not return and head
the attack your noble selves, I fear me there is little hope of
victory."

" Peace, fool ! is there such skill and wisdom needed ? Di-
vision in purpose and action ! Quarrelling, methinks, had bet-
ter be turned against the enemy than against yourselves. Hugo,
do thou speak ; in plain terms, wherefore come ye ?"

" In plain terms, then, good my lord, as yet we have had the
worst of it," answered the esquire, bluntly. " The Scotch fight
like very devils, attacking us instead of waiting for our attack,
penetrating into the very centre of our camp, one knows not
how or whence, bearing off prisoners and booty in our very
teeth."

" Prisoners — booty — worsted ! Thou durst not tell me so !"
exclaimed Lancaster, furiously, as he started up and half drew
his sword.

" Peace, peace, I pray thee, good friend, peace," continued
Hereford, laying his hand on Lancaster's shoulder, with a force

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 211

which compelled him to resume his seat. " Let us at least
hear and understand their mission. Speak out, Hugo, and
briefly — what has befallen ?"

In a few straightforward words his esquire gave all the in-
formation which was needed, interrupted only now and then
by a brief interrogation from Hereford, and some impatient
starts and muttering from his colleague. The success of the
Scots, described in a former page, had continued, despite the
action of the mangonels and other engines which the massive
walls appeared to hold in defiance. So watchful and skilful
were the besieged, that the greatest havoc had been made
amongst the men employed in working the engines, and not
yet had even the palisades and barbacan been successfully
stormed.

" Have they tried any weaker point ?" Hereford asked, and
the answer was, that it was on this very matter division had
spread amongst the knights, some insisting on carrying the bar-
bacan as the most important point, and others advising and
declaring their only hope of success lay in a divided attack on
two of the weaker sides at once.

" The fools, the sorry fools !" burst again from Lancaster.
" They deserve to be worsted for their inordinate pride and
folly ; all wanted to lead, and none would follow. Give you
good e'en, my lord," he added, turning hastily to his host ;
" I'll to the courtyard and muster forth my men. Fitz-Ernest,
thou shalt speak on as we go," and drawing his furred mantle
around him, he strode rapidly yet haughtily from the hall.
Hereford only waited to learn all from Hugo, to hold a brief
consultation with some of his attendant knights, and he too,
despite the entreaties of his host to tarry with him at least till
morning, left the banquet to don his armor.

" Silence and speed carry all before them, my good lord,"
he said, courteously. " In such a case, though I fear no eventual
evil, they must not be neglected. I would change the mode
of attack on these Scotch, ere they are even aware their foes
are reinforced."

" Eventual evil, of a truth, there need not be, my lord," in-
terposed his esquire, " even should no force of arms prevail. I
have heard there are some within the walls who need but a
golden bribe to do the work for us."

" Peace !" said the nobleman, sternly. " I loathe the very

212 THE DAYS OF BKUOE.

word betray — spoken or intended. Shame, shame on thee to
speak it, and yet more shame to imagine it needed ! Art thou
of Norman birth, and deemest a handful of Scotch like these
will bid us raise the siege and tamely depart ? — yet better so
than gained by treachery."

Hugo and the Scottish baron alike shrunk back from the
reproving look of Hereford, and both silently followed him to
the courtyard. Already it was a scene of bustling animation :
trumpets were sounding and drums rolling ; torches flashing
through the darkness on the mailed coats of the knights and
on gleaming weapons ; and the heavy tramp of near two
hundred horse, hastily accoutred and led from the stable,
mingled with the hoarse winds of winter, howling tempestu-
ously around. The reserve which Hereford had retained to
guard the prisoners so treacherously delivered over to him, was
composed of the noblest amidst his army, almost all mounted
chevaliers ; and, therefore, though he might not add much
actual force to the besiegers, the military skill and experience
which that little troop included argued ill for the besieged.
Some of the heaviest engines he had kept back also, particu-
larly a tower some four or five stories high, so constructed that
it could be rolled to the walls, and its inmates ascend un-
scathed by the weapons of their defenders. Not imagining it
would be needed, he had not sent it on with the main body,
but now he commanded twelve of the strongest horses to be
yoked to it, and on went the unwieldy engine, rumbling and
staggering on its ill-formed wheels. Lancaster, whose impa-
tience no advice could ever control, dashed on with the first
troop, leaving his cooler comrade to look to the yoking of the
engines and the marshalling the men, and with his own imme-
diate attendants bringing up the rear, a task for which Here-
ford's self-command as well fitted him as his daring gallantry
to head the foremost charge.

" Ye will have a rough journey, my good lord ; yet an ye
deem it best, farewell and heaven speed ye," was the parting
greeting of the baron, as he stood beside the impatient charger
of the earl.

" The rougher the better," was that nobleman's reply ; " the
noise of the wind will conceal our movements better than a
calmer night. Farewell, and thanks — a soldier's thanks, my
lord, poor yet honest — for thy right noble welcome."

THE DATS OF BEUCB. 213

He bent his head courteously, set spurs to his steed, and
dashed over the drawbridge as the last of his men disappeared
through the outer gate. The Scottish nobleman looked after
him with many mingled feelings.

'• As noble a warrior as ever breathed," he muttered ; " it
were honor to serve under him, -yet an he wants me not I will
not join him. I love not the Bruce, yet uncalled, unneeded, I
will not raise sword against my countrymen," and with slow,
unequal steps he returned to the hall.

Hereford was correct in his surmises. The pitchy darkness
of a winter night would scarcely have sufficed to hide the
movements attendant on the sudden arrival of a large body of
men in the English camp, had not the hoarse artillery of the
wind, moaning, sweeping, and then rushing o'er the hills with
a crashing sound like thunder, completely smothered every other
sound, and if at intervals of quiet unusual sounds did attract
the ears of those eager watchers on the Scottish walls, the
utter impossibility of kindling torches or fires in either camp
frustrated every effort of discovery. Hoarser and wilder grew
the whirlwind with the waning hours, till even the steel-clad
men-at-arms stationed on the walls moved before it, and were
compelled to crouch down till its violence had passed. Favored
by the elements, Hereford proceeded to execute his measures,
heedless alike of the joyful surprise his sudden appearance
occasioned, and of the tale of division and discord which Hugo
and Fitz-Ernest had reported as destroying the unity of the
camp. Briefly and sternly refusing audience to each who
pressed forward, eager to exculpate himself at the expense of
his companions, he desired his esquire to proclaim a general
amnesty to all who allowed themselves to have been in error,
and would henceforth implicitly obey his commands ; he re-
turned to his pavilion, with the Earl of Lancaster, summoning
around him the veterans of the army, and a brief consultation
was held. They informed him the greatest mischief had been
occasioned by the injuries done to the engines, which had been
brought to play against the walls. Stones of immense weight
had been hurled upon them, materially injuring their works,
and attended with such fatal slaughter to the men who worked
them, that even the bravest shrunk back appalled ; that the
advice of the senior officers had been to hold back until these
engines were repaired, merely keeping strict guard against

214 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

unexpected sallies on the part of the Scotch, as this would not
only give them time to recruit their strength, but in all proba-
bility throw the besieged off their guard. Not above half of
the army, however, agreed with this counsel ; the younger and
less wary spurned it as cowardice and folly, and rushing on to
the attack, ill-formed and ill-conducted, had ever been beaten
back with immense loss ; defeat, however, instead of teaching
prudence, lashed them into greater fury, which sometimes
turned upon each other.

Hereford listened calmly, yet with deep attention, now and
then indeed turning his expressive eyes towards his colleague,
as if entreating him to observe that the mischief which had
befallen them proceeded greatly from impetuosity and impru-
dence, and beseeching his forbearance. Nor was Lancaster
regardless of this silent appeal ; conscious of his equality with
Hereford in bravery and nobleness, he disdained not to ac-
knowledge his inferiority to him in that greater coolness, which
in a siege is so much needed, and grasping his hand with gen-
erous fervor, bade him speek, advise, command, and he would
find no one in the camp more ready to be counselled and to
obey than Lancaster. To tear down those rebel colors and
raise those of England in their stead, was all he asked.

"And fear not that task shall be other than thine own,
my gallant friend," was Hereford's instant reply, his features
kindling at Lancaster's words more than they had done yet ;
and then again quickly resuming his calm unimpassioned ex-
terior, he inquired if the mangonels and other engines were
again fit for use. There were several that could instantly be
put in action was the reply. Had the numbers of fighting men
within the castle been ascertained ? They had, a veteran an-
swered, from a prisoner, who had appeared so willing to give
information, that his captors imagined there were very many
malcontents within the walls. Of stalwart fighting men there
were scarcely more than three hundred ; others there were, of
whose number was the prisoner, who fought because their
companions' swords would else have been at their throats, but
that they would be glad enough to be made prisoners, to escape
the horrors of the siege.

" I am sorry for it," was the earl's sole rejoinder, " there
will be less glory in the conquest."

" And this Sir Nigel Bruce, whoe'er he be, hath to combat

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 215

'gainst fearful odds," remarked Lancaster ; " and these Scotch-
men, by my troth, seem touched by the hoof of the arch-
deceiver — treachery from the earl to the peasant. Hast no-
ticed how this scion of the Bruce bears himself ? — right gal-
lantly, 'tis said."

" As a very devil, my lord," impetuously answered a knight ;
" in the walls or out of them, there's no standing before him.
He sweeps down his foes, line after line, as cards blown before
the wind ; he is at the head of every charge, the last of each
retreat. But yesternight there were those who marked him
covering the retreat of his men absolutely alone ; his sword
struck down two at every sweep, till his passage was cleared ;
he darted on — the drawbridge trembled in its grooves — for he
had given the command to raise it, despite his own danger —
his charger, mad as himself, sprang forward, and like a light-
ning flash, both disappeared within the portcullis as the bridge
uprose."

" Gallantly done !" exclaimed Lancaster, who had listened
to this recital almost breathlessly. " By St. George, a foe
worthy to meet and struggle with ! But who is he — what
is he ?"

" Knowest thou not ?" said Hereford, surprised ; " the
brother, youngest brother I have heard, of this same daring
Earl of Carrick who has so troubled our sovereign."

" Nigel, the brother of Robert ! What, the scribe, the poet,
the dreamer of Edward's court ? a poor youth, with naught
but his beauty to recommend him. By all good angels, this
metamorphosis soundeth strangely ! art sure 'tis the same, the
very same ?"

" I have heard so," was Hereford's quiet reply, and continu-
ing his more important queries with the veterans around, while
Lancaster, his gayer spirit roused by this account of Nigel, de-
manded every minute particular concerning him, that he might
seek him hand to hand.

" Steel armor inlaid with silver — blue scarf across his breast,
embroidered with his cognizance in gold — blue plume, which
no English sword hath ever soiled — humph ! that's reserved
for me — charger white as the snow on the ground — sits his
steed as man and horse were one. Well, gloriously well, there
will be no lack of glory here !" he said, joyously, as one by
one he slowly enumerated the symbols by which he might rec-

216 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

ognize his foe. So expeditiously had Hereford conducted his
well-arranged plans, that when his council was over, it still
wanted two hours to dawn, and these Hereford commanded
the men who had accompanied him to pass in repose.

But he himself partook not of this repose, passing the re-
mainder of the darkness in carefully reviewing the forces which
were still fresh and prepared for the onset, in examining the
nature of the engines, and finally, still aided by the noise of the
howling winds, marshalled them in formidable array in very
front of the barbacan, the heavy mist thrown onward by the
blasts effectually concealing their near approach. To Lancaster
the command of this party was intrusted ; Hereford reserving
to himself the desirable yet delicate task of surveying the
ground, confident that the attack on the barbacan would de-
mand the whole strength and attention of the besieged, and
thus effectually cover his movements.

His plan succeeded. A fearful shout, seconded by a tre-
mendous discharge of huge stones, some of which rattled
against the massive walls in vain, others flying across the moat
and crushing some of the men on the inner wall, were the first
terrific sounds which unexpectedly greeted the aroused atten-
tion of the Scotch. The armor of their foes flashing through
the mist, the furious charge of the knights up to the very gates
of the barbacan, seemingly in sterner and more compact array
than of late had been their wont, the immense body which fol-
lowed them, appearing in that dim light more numerous than
reality, struck a momentary chill on the Scottish garrison ; but
the unwonted emotion was speedily dissipated by the instant
and unhesitating sally of Sir Christopher Seaton and his brave
companions. The impetuosity of their charge, the suddenness
of their appearance, despite their great disparity of numbers,
caused the English a moment to bear back, and kept them in
full play until Nigel and his men-at-arms, rushing over the low-
ered drawbridge, joined in the strife. A brief, very brief inter-
val of fighting convinced both the Scottish leaders that a mas-
ter-spirit now headed their foes ; that they were struggling at
infinitely greater odds than before ; that unity of "purpose,
greater sagacity, and military skill were now at work against
them, they scarce knew wherefore, for they recognized the
same war-cry, the same banners ; there were the same gallant
show of knights, for in the desperate m&l£e it was scarcely pos-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 217

sible to distinguish the noble form of Lancaster from his fellows,
although marking the azure plume, which even Jhen waved
high above all others, though round it the work of death ever
waxed hottest ; the efforts of the English earl were all bent to
meet its gallant wearer hand to hand, but the press of war still
held them apart, though both seemed in every part of the field.
It was a desperate struggle man to man ; the clash of swords
became one strange continuous mass of sound, instead of the
fearful distinctness which had marked their work before.
Shouts and cries mingled fearfully with the sharper clang, the
heavy fall of man and horse, the creaking of the engines, the
wild shrieks of the victims within the walls mangled by the
stones, or from the survivors who witnessed their fall — all
formed a din as terrific to hear, as dreadful to behold. With
even more than their wonted bravery the Scotch fought, but
with less success. The charge of the English was no longer
the impetuous fury of a few hot-headed young men, more eager
to despite their cooler advisers, than gain any permanent good
for themselves. Now, as one man fell another stepped forward
in his place, and though the slaughter might have been equal,
nay, greater on the side of the besiegers than the besieged, by
one it was scarcely felt, by the other the death of each man
was even as the loss of a host. Still, still they struggled on,
the English obtaining possession of the palisades, though the
immense strength of the barbacan itself, defended as it was by
the strenuous efforts of the Scotch, still resisted all attack ;
bravely, nobly, the besieged retreated within their walls, pell-
mell their foes dashed after them, and terrific was the combat
on the drawbridge, which groaned and creaked beneath the
heavy tramp of man and horse. Many, wrestling in the fierce-
ness of mortal strife, fell together in the moat, and encumbered
with heavy armor, sunk in each other's arms, in the grim clasp
of death.

Then it was Lancaster met hand to hand the gallant foe he
sought, covering the retreat of his men, who were bearing Sir
Christopher Seaton, desperately wounded, to the castle. Sir
Nigel stood well-nigh alone on the bridge ; his bright armor,
his. foaming charger bore evident marks of the fray, but still he
rode his steed firmly and unbent, his plume yet waved un-
touched by the foeman's sword. Nearer and nearer pressed
forward the English earl, signing to bis men to secure without

10

218 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

wounding his gallant foe ; round him they closely gathered,
but Nigel evinced no sign either of trepidation or anger, fear-
lessly, gallantly, he returned the earl's impetuous charge, back-
ing his steed slowly as he did so, and keeping his full front to
his foe. On, on pressed Lancaster, even to the postern ; a
bound, a shout, and scarcely was he aware that his sword had
ceased to cross with Nigel's, before he was startled by the
heavy fall of the portcullis, effectually dividing them, and ut-
terly frustrating further pursuit. A cry of rage, of disappoint-
ment broke from the English, as they were compelled to turn
and rejoin their friends.

The strife still continued within and without the barbacan,
and ended without much advantage on either side. The pali-
sades and outward barriers had indeed fallen into the hands of
the English, which was the first serious loss yet sustained by
the besieged ; from the barbacan they had gallantly and suc-
cessfully driven their foe, but that trifling success was so coun-
terbalanced by the serious loss of life amid the garrison which
it included, that both Nigel and Sir Christopher felt the next
attack must deliver it into the hands of the besiegers. Their
loss of men was in reality scarcely a third of the number which
had fallen among the English, yet to them that loss was of in-
finitely more consequence than to the foe. Bitter and painful
emotions filled the noble spirit of Nigel, as he gazed on the
diminished number of his men, and met the ill-suppressed
groans and lamentations of those who had, at the first alarm
of the English, sought shelter and protection in the castle ;
their ill-suppressed entreaties that he would struggle no longer
against such odds grated harshly and ominously on his ear ;
but sternly he turned from them to the men-at-arms, and in
their steadfast bravery and joyous acclamations found some
degree of hope.

Yet ere the day closed the besieged felt too truly their
dreams of triumph, of final success, little short of a miracle
would realize. Their fancy that some new and mightier spirit
of generalship was at work within the English camp was con-
firmed. Two distinct bodies were observed at work on the
eastern and southern sides of the mount, the one evidently em-
ployed in turning aside the bed of the river, which on that side
flowed instead of the moat beneath the wall, the other in
endeavoring to fill up the moat by a causeway, so as to admit

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 219

of an easy access to the outer wall. The progress they had
made in their work the first day, while the attention of the
Scotch had been confined to the attack on the barbacan, was
all-sufficient evidence of their intent ; and with bitter sorrow
Sir Nigel and his brother-in-law felt that their only means of
any efficient defence lay in resigning the long -contested bar-
bacan to the besiegers. An important point it certainly was,
but still to retain it the walls overlooking the more silent efforts
of the English must be left comparatively unguarded, and they
might obtain an almost uninterrupted and scarce-contested
passage within the walls, while the whole strength and atten-
tion of the besieged were employed, as had already been the
case, on a point that they had scarce a hope eventually to re-
tain. With deep and bitter sorrow the alternative was proposed
and carried in a hurried council of war, and so well acted upon,
that, despite the extreme watchfulness of the English, men,
treasure, arms, and artillery, all that the strong towers con-
tained, were conveyed at dead of night over the drawbridge
into the castle, and the following morning, Lancaster, in utter
astonishment, took possession of the deserted fort.

Perhaps to both parties this resolution was alike a disap-
pointment and restraint. The English felt there was no glory
in their prize, they had not obtained possession through their
own prowess and skill ; and now that the siege had become so
much closer, and this point of communication was entirely
stopped, the hand-to-hand combat, the glorious m&Ue, the press
of war, which to both parties had been an excitement, and
little more than warlike recreation, had of course entirely ceased,
but Hereford heeded not the disappointment of his men ; his
plans were progressing as he had desired, even though his
workmen were greatly harassed by the continued discharge of
arrows and immense stones from the walls.

The desertion of the barbacan was an all-convincing proof
of the very small number of the garrison ; and though the
immense thickness and solidity of the walls bespoke time,
patience, and control, the English earl never wavered from his
purpose, and by his firmness, his personal gallantry, his readily-
bestowed approbation on all who demanded it, he contrived to
keep his more impatient followers steadily to their task ; while
Nigel, to prevent the spirits of his men from sinking, would
frequently lead them forth at night, and by a sudden attack

220 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

annoy and often cut off many of the men stationed Avithin the
barbacan. The drawbridge was the precarious ground of many
a midnight strife, till the daring gallantry of Nigel Bruce be-
came the theme of every tongue ; a gallantry equalled only by
the consummate skill which he displayed, in retreating within
his entrenchments frequently without the loss of a single man
either as killed or wounded. Often would Sir Christopher
Seaton, whose wounds still bound him a most unwilling prisoner
to his couch, entreat him to avoid such rash exposures of his
life, but Nigel only answered him with a smile and an assurance
he bore a charmed life, which the sword of the foe could not
touch.

The siege had now lasted six weeks, and the position of both
parties continued much as we have seen, save that the bed of
the river had now begun to appear, promising a free passage
to the English on the eastern side, and on the south a broad
causeway had stretched itself over the moat, on which the
towers for defending the ascent of the walls, mangonels and
other engines, were already safely bestowed, and all promised
fair to the besiegers, whose numerous forces scarcely appeared
to have suffered any diminution, although in reality some hun-
dreds had fallen ; while on the side of the besieged, although
the walls were still most gallantly manned, and the first efforts
of the English to scale the walls had been rendered ineffectual
by huge stones hurled down upon them, still a look of greater
care was observable on the brows of both officers and men ;
and provisions had now begun to be doled out by weight and
measure, for though the granaries still possessed stores sufficient
for some weeks longer, the apparent determination of the
English to permit no relaxation in their close attack, demanded
increase of caution on the part of the besieged.

About this time an event occurred, which, though compara-
tively trifling in itself, when the lives of so many were con-
cerned, was fraught in effect with fatal consequences to all the
inmates of Kildrummie. The conversation of the next chap-
ter, however, will better explain it, and to it we refer our
readers.

THE DAYS OF BEUCK. 221

CHAPTER XIX.

IN a circular apartment of the lower floor in Kildrummie
keep, its stone floor but ill covered with rushes, and the walls
hung with the darkest and rudest arras, Sir Christopher Seaton
reclined on a rough couch, in earnest converse with his brother-
in-law, Nigel. Lady Seaton was also within the chamber, at
some little distance from the knights, engaged in preparing lint
and healing ointments, with the aid of an attendant, for tto
wounded, and ready at the first call to rise and attend them,
as she had done unremittingly during the continuance of the
siege. The countenances of both warriors were slightly changed
from the last time we beheld them. The severity of his wounds
had shed a cast almost of age on the noble features of Seaton,
but care and deep regret had' mingled with that pallor; and
perhaps on the face of Nigel, which three short weeks before
had beamed forth such radiant hope, the change was more
painful. He had escaped with but slight flesh wounds, but
disappointment and anxiety were now vividly impressed on his
features ; the smooth brow would unconsciously wrinkle in
deep and unexpressed thought ; the lip, to which love, joy, and
hope alone had once seemed natural, now often compressed,
and his eye flashed, till his whole countenance seemed stern,
not with the sternness of a tyrannical, changed and chafing
mood — no, 'twas the sternness most fearful to behold in youth,
of thought, deep, bitter, whelming thought ; and sterner even
than it had been yet was the expression on his features as he
spoke this day with Seaton.

" He must die," were the words which broke a long and
anxious pause, and fell in deep yet emphatic tones from the
lips of Seaton ' " yes, die ! Perchance the example may best
arrest the spreading contagion of treachery around us."

" I know not, I fear not ; yet as thou sayest he must die,"
replied Nigel, speaking as in deep thought ; " would that the
noble enemy, who thus scorned to benefit by the offered treason,
had done on him the work of death himself. I love not the
necessity nor the deed."

" Yet it must be, Nigel. Is there aught else save death, the
death of a traitor, which can sufficiently chastise a crime like

222 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

this ? Well was it the knave craved speech of Hereford him-
self. I marvel whether the majesty of England had resisted a
like temptation."

" Seaton, he would not," answered the young man. " I
knew him, aye, studied him in his own court, and though I
doubt not there was a time when chivalry was strongest in the
breast of Edward, it was before ambition's fatal poison had
corroded his heart. Now he would deem all things honorable
in the art of war, aye, even the delivery of a castle through
the treachery of a knave."

" And he hath more in yon host to think with him than with
the noble Hereford," resumed Sir Christopher ; " yet this is but
idle parley, and concerneth but little our present task. la
what temper do our men receive the tidings of this foul
treason ?"

" Our own brave fellows call aloud for vengeance on the
traitor; nay, had I not rescued him from their hands, they
would have torn him limb from limb in their rage. But there
are others, Seaton — ^alas ! the more numerous body now — and
they speak not, but with moody brows and gloomy mutterings
prowl up and down the courts."

" Aye, the coward hearts," answered Seaton, " their good
wishes went with him, and but low- breathed curses follow our
efforts for their freedom. Yes, it must be, if it be but as a
warning unto others. See to it, Nigel ; an hour before the
set of sun he dies."

A brief pause followed his words, whose low sternness of
tone betrayed far more than the syllables themselves. Both
warriors remained a while plunged in moody thought, which
Seaton was the first to break.

" And how went the last attack and defence ?" he asked ;
" they told me, bravely."

" Aye, so bravely, that could we but reinforce our fighting
men, aided as we are by impenetrable walls, we might dream
still of conquest ; they have gained little as yet, despite their
nearer approach. Hand to hand we have indeed struggled on
the walls, and hurled back our foremost foes in their own in-
trenchments. Our huge fragments of rocks have dealt destruc-
tion on one of their towers, crushing all who manned it beneath
the ruins."

" And I lie here when such brave work is going on beside

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 223

me, even as a bedridden monk or coward layman, when my
whole soul is in the fight," said the knight, bitterly, and half
springing from his couch. " When will these open wounds —
to the foul fiend with them and those who gave them ! — when
will they let me mount and ride again as best befits a warrior ?
Better slain at once than lie here a burden, not a help — taking
from those whose gallant efforts need it more the food we may
not have for long. I will not thus be chained ; I'll to the ac-
tion, be my life the forfeit!"

He sprung up, and for a moment stood upon his feet, but
with a low groan of pain instantly fell back, the dew of weak-
ness gathering on his brow. Lady Seaton was at his side on
the instant to bathe his temples and his hands, yet without one
reproachful word, for she knew the anguish it was to his brave
heart to lie thus disabled, when every loyal hand was needed
for his country.

" Nigel, I would that I might join thee. Remember, 'tis no
mean game we play ; we hold not out as marauding chieftains
against a lawful king; we struggle not in defence of petty
rights, of doubtful privileges. Tis for Scotland, for King Rob-
ert still we strive. Did this castle hold out, aye, compel the
foe to raise the siege, much, much would be done for Scotland.
Others would do as we have done ; many, whose strongholds
rest in English hands, would rise and expel the foe. Had we
but reinforcements of men and stores, all might still be well."

"Aye," answered Nigel, bitterly, "but with all Scotland
crushed 'neath English chains, her king and his bold patriots
fugitives and exiles, ourselves the only Scottish force in arms,
the only Scottish castle which resists the tyrant, how may this
be, whence may come increase of force, of store ? Seaton,
Seaton, thine are bright dreams — would that they were real."

" Wouldst thou then give up at once, and strive no more ?
It cannot be."

" Never !" answered his companion, passionately. " Ere
English feet shall cross these courts and English colors wave
above these towers, the blood of the defenders must flow be-
neath their steps. They gain not a yard of earth save at the
bright sword's point ; not a rood of grass unstained by Scottish
blood. Give up ! not till my arm can wield no sword, my
voice no more shout ' Forward for the Bruce !' "

" Then we will hope on, dream on, Nigel, and despair not,"

224 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

replied Seaton, in the same earnest tone. " We know not yet
what may be, and, improbable as it seems now, succors may
yet arrive. How long doth last the truce ?"

" For eighteen hours, two of which have passed."

" Didst thou demand it ?"

" No," replied Nigel. " It was proffered by the earl, as
needed for a strict examination of the traitor Evan Roy, and
accepted in the spirit with which it was offered."

" Thou didst well ; and the foul traitor — where hast thou
lodged him ?"

" In the western turret, strongly guarded. I would not seek
thy counsel until I had examined and knew the truth."

"And thine own judgment?"

" Was as thine. It is an ill necessity, yet it must be."

" Didst pronounce his sentence ?"

Nigel answered in the affirmative.

"And how was it received?"

" In the same sullen silence on the part of the criminal as
he had borne during his examination. Methought a low mur-
mur of discontent escaped from some within the hall, but it was
drowned in the shout of approbation from the men-at-arms,
and the execrations they lavished on the traitor as they bore
him away, so I heeded it not."

" But thou wilt heed it," said a sweet voice beside him, and
Agnes, who had just entered the chamber, laid her hand on
his arm and looked beseechingly in his face. " Dearest Nigel,
I come a pleader."

" And for whom, my beloved ?" he asked, his countenance
changing into its own soft beautiful expression as he gazed on
her. " What can mine Agnes ask that Nigel may not grant ?"

" Nay, I am no pleader for myself," she said ; " I come on
the part of a wretched wife and aged mother, beseeching the
gift of life."

" And for a traitor, Agnes ?"

" I think of him but as a husband and son, dearest Nigel,"
she said, more timidly, for his voice was stern. " They tell me
he is condemned to death, and his wretched wife and mother
besought my influence with thee ; and indeed it needed little
entreaty, for when death is so busy around us, when in this
fearful war we see the best and bravest of our friends fall vic-
tims every day, oh, I would beseech you to spare life when it

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 225

may be. Dearest, dearest Nigel, have mercy on this wretched
man ; traitor as he is, oh, do not take his life — do not let thy
lips sentence him to death. Wilt thou not be merciful ?"

" If the death of one man will preserve the lives of many,
how may that one be spared ?" said Sir Nigel, folding the
sweet pleader closer to him, though his features spoke no re-
laxation of his purpose. " Sweet Agnes, do not ask this, give
me not the bitter pain of refusing aught to thee. Thou know-
est not all the mischief and misery which pardon to a traitor
such as this will do ; thou listenest only to thy kind heart and
the sad pleadings of those who love this man. Now listen to
me, beloved, and judge thyself. Did I believe a pardon would
bring back the traitor to a sense of duty, to a consciousness of
his great crime — did I believe giving life to him would deter
others from the same guilt, I should scarce wait even for thy
sweet pleading to give him both liberty and life ; but I know
him better than thou, mine Agnes. He is one of those dark,
discontented, rebellious spirits, that never rest in stirring up
others to be like them ; who would employ even the life I gave
him to my own destruction, and that of the brave and faithful
soldiers with me."

" But send him hence, dearest Nigel," still entreated Agnes.
" Give him life, but send him from the castle ; will not this re-
move the danger of his influence with others ?"

" And give him field and scope to betray us yet again, sweet
one. It were indeed scorning the honorable counsel of Here-
ford to act thus ; for trust me, Agnes, there are not many amid
our foes would resist temptation as he hath done."

" Yet would not keeping him close prisoner serve thee as well
as death, Nigel ? Bethink thee, would it not spare the ill of
taking life ?"

" Dearest, no," he answered. " There are many, alas ! too
many within these walls who need an example of terror to keep
them to their duty. They will see that treachery avails not
with the noble Hereford, and that, discovered by me, it hath no
escape from death. If this man be, as I imagine, in league
with other contentious spirits — for he could scarce hope to
betray the castle into the hands of the English without some
aid within — his fate may strike such terror into other traitor
hearts that their designs will be abandoned. Trust me, dearest,
I do not do this deed of justice without deep regret ; I grieve

10*

226 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

for the necessity even as the deed, and yet it must be ; and
bitter as it is to refuse thee aught, indeed I cannot grant thy
boon."

" Yet hear me once more, Nigel. Simple and ignorant as I
am, I cannot answer such arguments as thine ; yet may it not
be that this deed of justice, even while it strikes terror, may
also excite the desire for revenge, and situated as Ave are were
it not better to avoid all such bitterness, such heart-burnings
amongst the people ?"

" We must brave it, dearest," answered Nigel, firmly. " The
direct line of justice and of duty may not be turned aside for
such fears as these."

" Nor do I think they have foundation," continued Sir Chris-
topher Seaton. "Thou hast pleaded well and kindly, gentle
maiden, yet gladly as we would do aught to pleasure thee, this
that thou hast asked, alas ! must not be. The crime itself de-
mands punishment, and even could we pardon that, duty to our
country, our king, ourselves, calls loudly for his death, lest his
foul treachery should spread."

The eyes of the maiden filled with tears.

" Then my last hope is over," she said, sadly. " I looked to
thy influence, Sir Christopher, to plead for me, even if mine
own supplications should fail ; and thou judgest even as Nigel,
not as my heart could wish."

" We judge as men and soldiers, gentle maiden ; as men who,
charged with a most solemn responsibility, dare listen to naught
save the voice of justice, however loudly mercy pleads."

" And didst thou think, mine Agnes, if thy pleading was of
no avail, the entreaty of others could move me ?" whispered
Nigel, in a voice which, though tender, was reproachful.
" Dearest and best, oh, thou knowest not the pang it is to re-
fuse thee even this, and to feel my words have filled those eyes
with tears. Say thou wilt not deem me cruel, abiding by jus-
tice when there is room for mercy ?"

"I know thee better than to judge thee thus," answered
Agnes, tearfully ; " the voice of duty must have spoken loudly
to urge thee to this decision, and I may not dispute it ; yet
would that death could be averted. There was madness in
that woman's eyes," and she shuddered as she spoke.

" Of whom speakest thou, love ?" Nigel asked, and Seaton
looked the question.

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 227

" Of his wife," she replied. " She came to me distracted,
and used such dreadful words, menaces and threats they seem-
ed ; but his mother, more composed, assured me they meant
nothing, they were but the ravings of distress, and yet I fear to
look on her again without his pardon."

" And thou shalt not, my beloved ; these are not scenes and
words for such as thee. Rest here with Christine and good
Sir Christopher ; to tend and cheer a wounded knight is a
fitter task for thee, sweet one, than thus to plead a traitor's
cause."

Pressing his lips upon her brow as he spoke, he placed her
gently on a settle by Sir Christopher ; then crossing the apart-
ment, he paused a moment to whisper to Lady Seaton.

" Look to her, my dear sister ; she has been terrified, though
she would conceal it. Let her not leave thee till this fatal duty
is accomplished."

Lady Seaton assured him of her compliance, and he left the
apartment.

He had scarcely quitted the postern before he himself en-
countered Jean Roy, a woman who, even in her mildest mo-
ments, evinced very little appearance of sanity, and who now,
from her furious and distracting gestures, seemed wrought up
to no ordinary pitch of madness. She kept hovering round
him, uttering menaces and entreaties in one and the same
breath, declaring one moment that her husband was no traitor,
and had only done what every true-hearted Scotsman ought
to do, if he would save himself and those he loved from de-
struction ; the next, piteously acknowledging his crime, and
wildly beseeching mercy. For a while Nigel endeavored,
calmly and soothingly, to reason with her, but it was of no
avail : louder and fiercer became her curses and imprecations ;
beseeching heaven to hurl down all its maledictions upon him
and the woman he loved, and refuse him mercy when he most
needed it. Perceiving her violence becoming more and more
outrageous, Nigel placed her in charge of two of his men-at-
arms, desiring them to treat her kindly, but not to lose sight
of her, and keep her as far as possible from the scene about to
be enacted. She was dragged away, struggling furiously, and
Nigel felt his heart sink heavier within him. It was not that
he wavered in his opinion, that he believed, situated as he was,
it was better to spare the traitor's life than excite to a flame

228 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

the already aroused and angered populace. He thought in-
deed terror might do much ; but whether it was the entreating
words of Agnes, or the state of the unhappy Jean, there had
come upon him a dim sense of impending ill ; an impression
that the act of justice about to be performed would bring mat-
ters to a crisis, and the ruin of the garrison be consummated,
ere he was aware it had begun. The shadow of the future ap-
peared to have enfolded him, but still he wavered not. The
hours sped : his preparations were completed, and at the time
appointed by Seaton, with as much of awful solemnity as cir-
cumstances would admit, the soul of the traitor was launched
into eternity. Men, women, and children had gathered round
the temporary scaffold ; every one within the castle, save the
maimed and wounded, thronged to that centre court, and
cheers and shouts, and groans and curses, mingled strangely
on the air.

Clad in complete steel, but bareheaded, Sir Nigel Bruce had
witnessed the act of justice his voice had pronounced, and,
after a brief pause, he stood forward on the scaffold, and in a
deep, rich voice addressed the multitude ere they separated.
Eloquently, forcibly, he spoke of the guilt, the foul guilt of
treachery, now when Scotland demanded all men to join to-
gether hand and heart as one — now when the foe was at their
gates ; when, if united, they might yet bid defiance to the ty-
rant, who, if they were defeated, would hold them slaves. He
addressed them as Scottish men and freemen, as soldiers, hus-
bands, and fathers, as children of the brave, who welcomed
death with joy, rather than life in slavery and degradation ;
and when his words elicited a shout of exultation and applause
from the greater number, he turned his eye on the group of
malcontents, and sternly and terribly bade them beware of a
fate similar to that which they had just witnessed ; for the gal-
lant Earl of Hereford, he said, would deal with all Scottish
traitors as with Evan Roy, and once known as traitors within
the castle walls, he need not speak their doom, for they had
witnessed it; and then changing his tone, frankly and beseech-
ingly he conjured them to awake from the dull, sluggish sleep
of indifference and fear, to put forth their energies as men, as
warriors; their country, their king, their families, called on
them, and would they not hear ? He bade them arise, awake
to their duty, and all that had been should never tie recalled.

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 229

He spoke with a brief yet mighty eloquence that seemed to
carry conviction with it. Many a stern face and darkened brow
relaxed, and there was hope in many a patriot breast as that
group dispersed, and all was once more martial bustle on the
walls.

" Well and wisely hast thou spoken, my son," said the aged
Abbot of Scone, who had attended the criminal's last moments,
and now, with Nigel, sought the keep. " Thy words have
moved those rebellious spirits, have calmed the rising tempest
even as oil flung on the troubled waves ; thine eloquence was
even as an angel voice 'mid muttering fiends. Yet thou art
still sad, still anxious. My son, this should not be."

" It must be, father," answered the young man. " I have
looked beyond that oily surface and see naught save darker
storms and fiercer tempests ; those spirits need somewhat more
than a mere voice. Father, reproach me not as mistrusting
the gracious heaven in whose keeping lie our earthly fates. I
know the battle is not to the strong, 'tis with the united, the
faithful, and those men are neither. My words have stirred
them for the moment, as a pebble flung 'mid the troubled
waters — a few brief instants and all trace is passed, we see
naught but the blackened wave. But speak not of these
things ; my trust is higher than earth, and let man work
his will."

Another week passed, and the fierce struggle continued, al-
ternating success, one day with the besiegers, the next with
the besieged. The scene of action was now principally on
the walls — a fearful field, for there was no retreat — and often
the combatants, entwined in a deadly struggle, fell together
into the moat. Still there were no signs of wavering on either
side, still did the massive walls give no sign of yielding to the
tremendous and continued discharge of heavy stones, that
against battlements less strongly constructed must long ere
this have dealt destruction and inevitable mischief to the be-
sieged. One tower, commanding the causeway across the
moat and its adjoining platform on the wall, had indeed been
taken by the English, and was to them a decided advantage,
but still their further progress even to the next tower was lin-
gering and dubious, and it appeared evident to both parties
that, from the utter impossibility of the Scotch obtaining sup-
plies of provision and men, success must finally attend the Eng-

230 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

lish ; they would succeed more by the effects of famine than
by their swords.

It was, as we have said, seven days after the execution of
the traitor Roy. A truce for twelve hours had been concluded
with the English, at the request of Sir Nigel Bruce, and safe
conduct granted by the Earl of Hereford to those men, wo-
men, and children of the adjoining villages who chose even at
this hour to leave the castle, but few, a very few took advan-
tage of this permission, and these were mostly the widows and
children of those who had fallen in the siege ; a fact which
caused some surprise, as the officers and men-at-arms imagined
it would have been eagerly seized upon by all those contentious
spirits who had appeared so desirous of a league with England.
A quiet smile slightly curled the lips of Nigel as this informa-
tion was reported to him — a smile as of a mind prepared for
and not surprised at what he heard ; but when left alone, the
smile was gone, he folded his arms on his breast, his head was
slightly bent forward, but had there been any present to have
remarked him, they would have seen his features move and
work with the intensity of internal emotion. Some mighty
struggle he was enduring ; something there was passing at his
very heart, for when recalled from that trance by the heavy
bell of the adjoining church chiming the hour of five, and he
looked up, there were large drops of moisture on his brow, and
his beautiful eye seemed for the moment sti'ained and blood-
shot. He paced the chamber slowly and pensively till there
was no outward mark of agitation, and then he sought for
Agnes.

She was alone in an upper chamber of the keep, looking out
from the narrow casement on a scene of hill and vale, and
water, which, though still wintry from the total absence of leaf
and flower, was yet calm and beautiful in the declining sun, and
undisturbed by the fearful scenes and sounds which met the
glance and ear on every other side, seemed even as a paradise
of peace. It had been one of those mild, soft days of Febru-
ary, still more rare in Scotland than in England, and on the
heart and sinking frame of Agnes its influence had fallen, till,
almost unconsciously, she wept. The step of Nigel caused her
hastily to dash these tears aside, and as he stood by her and
silently folded his arm around her, she looked up in his face
with a smile. He sought to return it, but the sight of such

THE DATS OF BBUCE. 231

emotion, trifling as it was, caused his heart to sink with inde-
scribable fear ; his lip quivered, as utterly to prevent the words
he sought to speak, and as he clasped her to his bosom and
bent his head on hers, a low yet instantly suppressed moan
burst from him.

" Nigel, dearest Nigel, what has chanced ? Oh, speak to
me !" she exclaimed, clasping his hand in both hers, and gazing
wildly in his face. " Thou art wounded or ill, or wearied unto
death. Oh, let me undo this heavy armor, dearest ; seek but
a brief interval of rest. Speak to me, I know thou art not
well."

" It is but folly, my beloved, a momentary pang that weak-
ness caused. Indeed, thy fears are causeless ; I am well, quite
well," he answered, struggling with himself, and subduing
with an effort his emotion. " Mine own Agnes, thou wilt not
doubt me ; look not upon me so tearfully, 'tis passed, 'tis over
now."

" And thou wilt not tell me that which caused it, Nigel ?
Hast thou aught of suffering which thou fearest to tell thine
Agnes ? Oh ! do not fear it ; weak, childlike as I am, my soul
will find strength for it."

" And thou shalt know all, all in a brief while," he said, her
sweet pleading voice rendering the task of calmness more diffi-
cult. " Yet tell me first thy thoughts, my love. Methought
thy gaze was on yon peaceful landscape as I entered, and yet
thine eyes were dimmed with tears."

"And yet I know not wherefore," she replied, "save the
yearnings for peace were stronger, deeper than they should be,
and I pictured a cot where love might dwell in yon calm valley,
and wished that this fierce strife was o'er."

" 'Tis in truth no scene for thee, mine own. I know, I feel
thou pinest for freedom, for the fresh, pure, stainless air of the
mountain, the valley's holy calm ; thine ear is sick with the fell
sounds that burst upon it; thine eye must turn in loathing
from this fierce strife. Agnes, mine own Agnes, is it not so ?
would it not be happiness, aye, heaven's own bliss, to seek
some peaceful home far, far away from this ?"

He spoke hurriedly and more passionately than was his wont,
but Agnes only answered —

" With thee, Nigel, it were bliss indeed."

" With me," he said ; " and couldst thou not be happy were

232 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

I not at thy side ? Listen to me, beloved," and his voice be
came as solemnly earnest as it had previously been hurried
" I sought thee, armed I thought with fortitude sufficient foi
the task ; sought thee, to beseech, implore thee to seek safety
and peace for a brief while apart from me, till these fearfifi
scenes are passed. Start not, and oh, do not look upon mo.
thus. I know all that strength of nerve, of soul, which bids
thee care not for the dangers round thee. I know that where
I am thy loving spirit feels no fear ; but oh, Agnes, for my
sake, if not for thine own, consent to fly ere it be too late ; con-
sent to seek safety far from this fatal tower. Let me not feel
that on thee, on thee, far dearer than my life, destruction, and
misery, and suffering in a thousand fearful shapes may fall.
Let me but feel thee safe, far from this terrible scene, and then,
come what will, it can have no pang."

" And thee," murmured the startled girl, on whose ear the
words of Nigel had fallen as with scarce half their meaning,
" thee, wouldst thou bid me leave thee, to strive on, suffer
on, and oh, merciful heaven ! perchance fall alone ? Nigel,
Nigel, how may this be ? are we not one, only one, and how
may I dwell in safety without thee — how mayest thou suffer
without me?"

" Dearest and best !" he answered, passionately, " oh, that
we were indeed one ; that the voice of heaven had bound us
one, long, long ere this ! and yet — no, no, 'tis better thus," and
again he struggled with emotion, and spoke calmly. " Agnes,
beloved, precious as thou art in these hours of anxiety, dear,
clearer than ever, in thy clinging, changeless love, yet tempt
me not selfishly to retain thee by my side, when liberty, and
life, and joy await thee beyond these fated walls. Thy path is
secured ; all that can assist, can accelerate thy flight waits but
thy approval. The dress of a minstrel boy is procured, and
will completely conceal and guard thee through the English
camp. Our faithful friend, the minstrel seer, will be thy
guide, and lead thee to a home of peace and safety, until my
brother's happier fortune dawns ; he will guard and love thee
for thine own and for my sake. Speak to me, beloved ; thou
knowest this good old man, and I so trust him that I have no
fear for thee. Oh, do not pause, and ere this truce be over
let me, let me feel that thou art safe and free, and may in time
be happy."

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 233

" In time," she repeated slowly, as if to herself, and then,
rousing herself from that stupor of emotion, looked up with a
countenance on which a sudden glow had spread. " And why
hast thou so suddenly resolved on this ?" she asked, calmly ;
" why shouldst thou fear for me more now than hitherto, dear-
est Nigel ? Hath not the danger always been the same, and
yet thou ne'er hast breathed of parting ? are not thy hopes
the same — what hath chanced unknown to me, that thou
speakest and lookest thus ? tell me, ere thou urgest more."

" I will tell thee what I fear, my love," he answered, re-
assured by her firmness ; " much that is seen not, guessed not
by my comrades. They were satisfied that my appeal had
had its effect, and the execution of Evan Roy was attended
with no disturbance, no ill will amongst those supposed to be
of his party — nay, that terror did its work, and all ideas of
treachery which might have been before encouraged were dis-
missed. I, too, believed this, Agnes, for a while ; but a few
brief hours were sufficient to prove the utter fallacy of the
dream. Some secret conspiracy is, I am convinced, carrying
on within these very walls. I know and feel this, and yet so
cautious, so secret are their movements, whatever they may be,
that I cannot guard against them. There are, as thou know-
est, fewer true fighting men amongst us than any other class,
and these are needed to man the walls and guard against the
foe without ; they may not be spared to watch as spies their
comrades — nay, I dare not even breathe such thoughts, lest
their bold hearts should faint and fail, and they too demand
surrender ere evil come upon us from within. What will be
that evil I know not, and therefore cannot guard against it. I.
dare not employ these men upon the walls, I dare not bring
them out against the foe, for so bitterly do I mistrust them,
I should fear even then they would betray us. I only know
that evil awaits us, and therefore, my beloved, I do beseech
thee, tarry not till it be upon us ; depart while thy path is
free."

" Yet if they sought safety and peace, if they tire of this
warfare," she replied, disregarding his last words, " wherefore
not depart to-day, when egress was permitted ; bethink thee,
dearest Nigel, is not this proof thy fears are ill founded, and
that no further ill hangs over us than that which threatens
from without ?"

234 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

" Alas ! no," he said, " it but confirais my suspicions ; I ob-
tained this safe conduct expressly to nullify or confirm them.
Had they departed as I wished, all would have been well ;
but they linger, and I can feel their plans are maturing, and
therefore they will not depart. Oh, Agnes," he continued,
bitterly, " my very soul is crushed beneath this weight of un-
expressed anxiety and care. Had I but to contend with* our
English foe, but to fight a good and honorable fight, to strug-
gle on, conscious that to the last gasp the brave inmates of this
fortress would follow me, and Edward would find naught on
which to wreak his vengeance but the dead bodies of his foes,
my task were easy as 'twere glorious ; but to be conscious of
secret brooding evil each morn that rises, each night that falls,
to dread what yet I know not, to see, perchance, my brave
fellows whelmed, chained, through a base treachery impossible
to guard against — oh ! Agnes, 'tis this I fear."

" Yet have they not seemed more willing, more active in
their assigned tasks since the execution of their comrade,"
continued Agnes, with all a woman's gentle artifice, still seek-
ing to impart hope, even when she felt that none remained ;
" may it not be that, in reality, they repent them of former
traitorous designs, and remain behind to aid thee to the last ?
Thou sayest that palpable proof of this brooding evil thou
canst not find, then do not heed its voice. Let no fear of me,
of my safety, add its pang ; mine own Nigel, indeed I fear
them not."

" I know that all I urge will naught avail with thee, be-
loved," he answered, somewhat less agitated. " I know thy
gentle love is all too deep, too pure, too strong, to share my
fears for thee, and oh, I bless thee, bless thee for the sweet
solace of that faithful love ! yet, yet, I may not listen to thy
wishes. All that thou sayest is but confirmation of the brood-
ing evil ; they are active, willing, but to hide their dark designs.
Yet even were there not this evil to dread, no dream of treach-
ery, still, still, I would send thee hence, sweet one. Famine
and blood, and chains, and death — oh, no, no ! thou must not
stay for these."

" And whither wouldst thou send me, Nigel, and for what ?"
she asked, still calmly, though her quivering lip denoted that
self-possession was fast failing. " Why ?"

" Whither ? to safety, freedom, peace, my best beloved !" he

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 235

answered, fervently ; " for what ? that happier, brighter days
may beam for thee, that thou mayest live to bless and be a
blessing ; dearest, best, cling not to a withered stem, thou
mayest be happy yet."

" And wilt thou join me, if I seek this home of safety, Nigel ?"
she laid her hand on his arm, and fixed her eyes unflinchingly
upon his face. He could not meet that glance, a cold shudder
passed over his frame ere he could reply.

" Mine own Agnes," and even then he paused, for his quiv-
ering lip could not give utterance to his thoughts, and a minute
rolled in that deep stillness, and still those anxious eyes moved
not from his face. At length voice returned, and it was sad
yet deeply solemn, " Our lives rest not in our own hands," he
said ; " and who when they part may look to meet again ? Be-
loved, if life be spared, canst doubt that I will join thee ? yet,
situated as I am, governor of a castle about to fall, a patriot,
and a Bruce, brother to the noble spirit who wears our coun-
try's crown, and has dared to fling down defiance to a tyrant,
Agnes, mine own Agnes, how may I dream of life ? I would
send thee hence ere that fatal moment come ; I would spare
thee this deep woe. I would bid thee live, beloved, live till
years had shed sweet peace upon thy heart, and thou wert
happy once again."

There was a moment's pause ; the features of Agnes had
become convulsed with agony as Nigel spoke, and her hands
had closed with fearful pressure on his arm, but his last \vords,
spoken in his own rich, thrilling voice, called back the stagnant
blood.

" No, no ; I will not leave thee !" she sobbed forth, as from
the sudden failing of strength in every limb she sunk kneeling
at his feet. " Nigel, Nigel, I will not leave thee ; in life or in
death I will abide by thee. Force me not from thee ; seek not
to tempt me by the tale of safety, freedom, peace ; thou know-
est not the depth, the might of woman's love, if thou thinkest
things like these can weigh aught with her, even if chains and
death stood frowningly beside. I will not leave thee ; whom
have I beside thee, for whom else wouldst thou call on me to
live ? Alone, alone, utterly alone, save thee ! Wilt thou bid
me hence, and leave thee to meet thy fate alone — thee, to
whom my mother gave me — thee, without whom my very .life
is naught ? Nigel, oh, despise me not for these wild words,

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

unmaidenly as they sound ; oh, let me speak them, or my heart
will break !"

"Despise thee for these blessed words!" Nigel answered,
passionately, as he raised her from the ground, and clasped her
to his heart. " Oh, thou knowest not the bliss they give ; yet,
yet would I speak of parting, implore thee still to leave me,
aye, though in that parting my very heart-strings snap. Agnes,
how may I bear to see thee in the power of the foe, perchance
insulted, persecuted, tortured with the ribald admiration of the
rude crowd, and feel I have no power to save thee, no claim to
bind thee to my side. What are the mere chains of love in
such an hour, abiding by me, as thou mightst, till our last hope
is over, and English colors wave above this fortress — then,
deai-est, oh, must we not, shall we not be rudely parted ?"

" No, no ! Who shall dare to part us ?" she said, as she
clung sobbing to his breast. " Who shall dare to do this thing,
and say I may not tend thee, follow thee, even until death ?"

" Who ? our captors, dearest. Thinkest thou they will heed
thy tender love, thine anguish ? will they have hearts for aught
save for thy loveliness, sweet one ? Think, think of terrors like
to this, and oh, still wilt thou refuse to fly ?"

" But thy sister, the Lady Seaton, Nigel, doth she not stay,
doth she not brave these perils ?" asked Agnes, shuddering at
her lover's words, yet clinging to him still. " If she escapes
such evil, why, oh, why may not I ?"

" She is Seaton's wife, sweet one, bound to him by the voice
of heaven, by the holiest of ties ; the noble knights who head
our foes will protect her in all honorable keeping ; but for thee,
Agnes, even if the ills I dread be as naught, there is yet one I
have dared not name, lest it should pain thee, yet one that is
most probable as 'tis most fearful ; thou canst not hide thy
name, and as a daughter of Buchan, oh, will they not give thee
to a father's keeping ?"

" The murderer of my brother — my mother's jailer ! Oh,
Nigel, Nigel, to look on him were more than death !" she
wildly exclaimed. " Yet, yet once known as Agues of Buchan,
this will, this must be ; but leave thee now, leave thee to a
tyrant's doom, if indeed, indeed thou fallest in his hands — leave
thee, when faithful love and woman's tenderness are more than
ever needed — leave thee for a fear like this, no, no, I will not.
Nigel, I will rest with thee. Speak not, answer not ; give me

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 237

one short moment, and then — oh, all the ills may be averted by
one brief word — and I, oh, can I speak it?" She paused in
fearful agitation, and every limb shook as if she must have
fallen ; *the blood rushed up to cheek, and brow, and neck, as,
fixing her beautiful eyes on Nigel's face, she said, in a low yet
thrilling voice, " Let the voice of heaven hallow the vows we
have so often spoken,' Nigel. Give me a right, a sacred right
to bear thy name, to be thine own, at the altar's foot, by the
holy abbot's blessing. Let us pledge our troth, and then let
what will come, no man can part us. I am thine, only thine !"

Without waiting for a reply, she buried her face in his bosom,
and Nigel could feel her heart throb as if 'twould burst its
bounds, her frame quiver as if the torrent of blood, checked
and stayed to give strength for the effort, now rushed back
with such overwhelming force through its varied channels as to
threaten life itself.

" Agnes, my own noble, self-devoted love ! oh, how may I
answer thee ?" he cried, tears of strong emotion coursing down
his cheek — tears, and the warrior felt no shame. " How have
I been deserving of love like this — how may I repay it ? how
bless thee for such words ? Mine own, mine own ! this would
indeed guard thee from the most dreaded ills ; yet how may I
link that self-devoted heart to one whose thread of life is well-
nigh spun ? how may I make thee mine, when a few brief weeks
of misery and horror must part us, and on earth, forever ?"

" No, no ; thou knowest not all a wife may do, my Nigel,"
she said, as she raised her head from his bosom, and faintly
smiled, though her frame still shook ; " how she may plead
even with a tyrant, and find mercy ; or if this fail, how she
may open iron gates and break through bonds, till freedom may
be found. Oh, no, we shall not wed to part, beloved ; but live
and yet be happy, doubt it not ; and then, oh, then forget the
words that joined us, made us one, had birth from other lips
than thine; — thou wilt forget, forgive this, Nigel?"

" Forget — forgive ! that to thy pure, unselfish soul I owe the
bliss which e'en at this hour I feel," he answered, passionately
kissing the beautiful brow upturned to his ; " forget words that
have proved — had I needed proof — how purely, nobly, faith-
fully I am beloved ; how utterly, how wholly thou hast for-
gotten all of self for me ! No, no ! were thy words proved
true, might I indeed live blessed with thee the life allotted man,

238 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

each year, each month I would recall this hour, and bless thee
for its love. But oh, it may not be !" and his voice so suddenly
lost its impassioned fervor, that the breast of Agnes filled with
new alarm. " Dearest, best ! thou must not dream of life, of
happiness with me. I may not mock thee with such blessed,
but, alas ! delusive hopes ; my doom hath gone forth, revealed
when I knew it not, confirmed by that visioned seer but few
short weeks ago. Agnes, my noble Agnes, wherefore shouldst
thou wed with death ? I know that I must die !"

The solemn earnestness of his words chased the still lingering
glow from the lips and cheek of the maiden, and a cold shiver
passed through her frame, but still she clung to him, and said —

" It matters not ; my maiden love, my maiden troth is pledged
to thee — in life or in death I am thine alone. I will not leave
thee," she said, firmly and calmly. " Nigel, if it be indeed as
thou sayest, that affliction, and — and all thou hast spoken, must
befall thee, the more need is there for the sustaining and the
soothing comfort of a woman's love. Fear not for me, weak
as I may have seemed, there is yet a spirit in me worthy of thy
love. I will not unman thee for all thou mayest encounter.
No, even if I follow thee to — to death, it shall be as a Bruce's
wife. Ask not how I will contrive to abide by thee undiscov-
ered, when, if it must be, the foe is triumphant ; it will take
time, and we have none to lose. Thou hast promised to forget
all I have urged, all, save my love for thee ; then, oh, fear me
not, doubt me not, thine Agnes will not fail thee !"

Nigel gazed at her almost with surprise ; she was no longer
the gentle timid being who but a few minutes since had clung
weeping to his bosom as a child. She was indeed very pale,
and on her features was the stillness of marble ; but she stood
erect and unfaltering in her innocent loveliness, sustained by
that mighty spirit which dwelt within. An emotion of deep
reverence took possession of that warrior heart, and unable to
resist the impulse, he bent his knee before her.

" Then let it be so," he said, solemnly, but oh, how fervent-
ly. " I will not torture mine own heart and thine by conjuring
thee to fly ; and now, here, at thy feet, Agnes, noble, generous
being, let me swear solemnly, sacredly swear, that should life
be preserved to me longer than I now dream of, should I indeed
be spared to lavish on thee all a husband's love and care, never,
never shalt thou have cause to regret this day ! to mourn thy

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 239

faithful love was shown as it hath been — to weep the hour that,
in the midst of danger, and darkness, and woe, hath joined our
earthly fates, and made us one. And now," he continued, ris-
ing and folding her once more in his arms, " wilt thou meet me
at the altar ere the truce concludes ? 'tis but a brief while, a
very brief while, my love ; yet if it can be, I know thou will
not shrink."

" I will not," she answered. " The hour thou namest I will
meet thee. Lady Seaton," she added, slightly faltering, and
the vivid blush rose to her temples, " I would see her, speak
with her ; yet — "

" She shall come to thee, mine own, prepared to love and
hail thee sister, as she hath long done. She will not blame
thee, dearest ; she loves, hath loved too faithfully herself. Fear
not, I will leave naught for thee to tell that can bid that cheek
glow as it doth now. She, too, will bless thee for thy love."

He imprinted a fervent kiss on her cheek, and hastily left her.
Agnes remained standing as he had left her for several min-
utes, her hands tightly clasped, her whole soul speaking in her
beautiful features, and then she sunk on her knees before a
rudely-carved image of the Virgin and child, and prayed long
and fervently. She did not weep, her spirit had been too pain-
fully excited for such relief, but so wrapt was she in devotion,
she knew not that Lady Seaton, with a countenance beaming
in admiration and love, stood beside her, till she spoke.

" Rouse thee, my gentle one," she said, tenderly, as she
twined her arm caressingly around her ; " I may not let thee
linger longer even here, for time passes only too quickly, and
I shall have but little time to attire my beautiful bride for the
altar. Nigel hath been telling such a tale of woman's love, that
my good lord hath vowed, despite his weakness and his wounds,
none else shall lead thee to the altar, and give thee to my bro-
ther, save himself. I knew that not even Nigel's influence
would bid thee leave us, dearest," she continued, as Agnes hid
her face in her bosom, " but I dreamed not such a spirit dwelt
within this childlike heart, sweet one ; thy lot must surely be
for joy !"

240 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

CHAPTER XX.

IT was something past the hour of nine, when Agnes, lean-
ing on the arm of Sir Christopher Seaton, and followed by Lady
Seaton and two young girls, their attendants, entered the
church, and walked, with an unfaltering step and firm though
modest mien, up to the altar, beside which Nigel already stood.
She was robed entirely in white, without the smallest orna-
ment save the emerald clasp which secured, and the beautiful
pearl embroidery which adorned her girdle. Her mantle was
of white silk, its little hood thrown back, disclosing a rich lining
of the white fox fur. Lady Seaton had simply arranged her
hair in its own beautiful curls, and not a flower or gem peeped
through them ; a silver bodkin secured the veil, which was just
sufficiently transparent to permit her betrothed to look upon
her features, and feel that, pale and still as they were, they
evinced no change in her generous purpose. He, too, was
pale, for he felt those rites yet more impressively holy than he
had deemed them, even when his dreams had pictured them
peculiarly and solemnly holy ; for he looked not to a continu-
ance of life and happiness, he felt not that ceremony set its seal
upon joy, and bound it, as far as mortality might hope, forever
on their hearts. He was conscious only of the deep unuttera-
ble fulness of that gentle being's love, of the bright, beautiful
lustre with which it shone upon his path. The emotion of his
young and ardent breast was perhaps almost too holy, too con-
densed, to be termed joy ; but it was one so powerful, so
blessed, that all of earth and earthly care was lost before it.
The fears and doubts which he had so lately felt, for the time
completely faded from his memory. That there were foes
without and yet darker foes within he might have known per-
haps, but at that moment they did not occupy a fleeting-
thought. He had changed his dress for one of richness suited
to his rank, and though at the advice of his friends he still re-
tained the breastplate and some other parts of his armor, his
doublet of azure velvet, cut and slashed with white satin, and
his long, flowing mantle lined with sable, and so richly decora-
ted with silver stars that its color could scarcely be distin-
guished, removed all appearance of a martial costume, and well

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 241

became the graceful figure they adorned ; two of the oldest
knights and four other officers, all gayly attired as the hurry
of the moment would permit, had at his own request attended
him to the altar.

Much surprise this sudden intention had indeed caused, but
it was an excitement, a change from the dull routine of the
siege, and consequently welcomed with joy, many indeed be-
lieving Sir Nigel had requested the truce for the purpose. Sir
Christopher, too, though pale and gaunt, and compelled to use
the support of a cane in walking, was observed to look upon
his youthful charge with all his former hilarity of mien,
chastened by a kindly tenderness, which seemed indeed that of
the father whom he personated ; and Lady Seaton had donned
a richer garb than was her wont, and stood encouragingly be-
side the bride. About twenty men-at-arms, their armor and
weapons hastily burnished, that no unseemly soil should mar the
peaceful nature of the ceremony by recalling thoughts of war,
were ranged on either side. The church was lighted, dimly in
the nave and aisles, but softly and somewhat with a holy ra-
diance where the youthful couple knelt, from the large waxen
tapers burning in their silver stands upon the altar.

The Abbot of Scone was at his post, attended by the domes-
tic chaplain of Kildrummie ; there was a strange mixture of
admiration and anxiety on the old man's face, but Agnes saw
it not ; she saw nothing save him at whose side she knelt.

Nigel, even in the agitation of mind in which he had quitted
Agnes — an agitation scarcely conquered in hastily informing his
sister and her husband of all that had passed between them,
and imploring their countenance and aid — yet made it his first
care strictly to make the round of the walls, to notice all that
might be passing within the courts, and see that the men-at-
arms were at their posts. In consequence of the truce, for the
conclusion of which it still wanted some little time, there were
fewer men on the walls than usual, their commanders having
desired them to take advantage of this brief cessation of hos-
tilities and seek refreshment and rest. A trumpet was to sound
at the hour of ten, half an hour before the truce concluded, to
summon them again to their posts. The men most acute in
penetration, most firm and steady in purpose, Nigel selected as
sentries along the walls ; the post of each being one of the
round towers we have mentioned, the remaining spaces were

21

242 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

consequently clear. Night had already fallen, and anxiously
observing' the movements on the walls ; endeavoring to dis-
cover whether the various little groups of men and women in
the ballium meant any thing more than usual, Sir Nigel did not
notice various piles or stacks of straw and wood which were
raised against the wall in many parts where the shadows lay
darkest, and some also against the other granaries which were
contained in low, wooden buildings projecting from the wall.
Neither he nor his friends, nor even the men-at-arms, noticed
them, or if they did, imagined them in the darkness to be but
the stones and other weights generally collected there, and used
to supply the engines on the walls.

With the exception of the sentries and the men employed by
Nigel, all the garrison had assembled in the hall of the keep
for their evening meal, the recollection of whose frugality they
determined to banish by the jest and song ; there were in con-
sequence none about the courts, and therefore that dark forms
were continually hovering about beneath the deep shadows of
the walls, increasing the size of the stacks, remained wholly
undiscovered.

Agnes had entered the church by a covered passage, which
united the keep to its inner wall, and thence by a gallery
through the wall itself, dimly lighted by loopholes, to the edi-
fice, whose southern side was formed by this same wall. It
was therefore, though in reality situated within the ballium or
outer court, nearer by many hundred yards to the dwelling of
the baron than to the castle walls, its granaries, towers, etc.
This outward ballium indeed was a very large space, giving the
appearance of a closely-built village or town, from the number
of low wooden and thatched -roofed dwellings, which on either
side of the large open space before the great gate were congre-
gated together. This account may, we fear at such a moment,
seem somewhat out of place, but events in the sequel compel
us to be thus particular. A space about half a mile square
surrounded the church, and this position, when visited by Sir
Nigel at nine o'clock, was quiet and deserted ; indeed there
was very much less confusion and other evidences of disquiet
within the dwellings than was now usual, and this circumstance
perhaps heightened the calm which, as we have said, had set-
tled on Sir Nigel's mind.

There was silence within that little sacred edifice, the silence

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 243

of emotion ; for not one could gaze upon that young fair girl,
could think of that devoted spirit, which at such a time pre-
ferred to unite her fate with a beloved one than seek safety and
freedom in flight, without being conscious of a strange swelling
of the heart and unwonted moisture in the eye ; and there was
that in the expression of the beautiful features of Nigel Bruce
none could remark unmoved. He was so young, so gifted,
so strangely uniting the gift of the sage, the poet, with the
glorious achievements of the most perfect knight, that he had
bound himself alike to every heart, however varied their dispo-
sitions, however opposite their tastes ; and there was not one,
from the holy Abbot of Scone to the lowest and rudest of the
men-at-arms, who would not willingly, aye, joyfully have laid
down life for his, have gladly accepted chains to give him
freedom.

The deep, sonorous voice of the abbot audibly faltered as
he commenced the sacred service, and looked on the fair beings
kneeling, in the beauty and freshness of their youth, before him.
Accustomed, however, to control every human emotion, he
speedily recovered himself, and uninterruptedly the ceremony
continued. Modestly, yet with a voice that never faltered,
Agnes made the required responses ; and so deep was the still-
ness that reigned around not a word was lost, but, sweetly and
clearly as a silver clarion, it sunk on every ear and thrilled to
every heart ; to his who knelt beside her, as if each tone re-
vealed yet more the devoted love which led her there. To-
wards the conclusion of the service, and just as every one
within the church knelt in general prayer, a faint, yet suffo-
cating odor, borne on what appeared a light mist, was distin-
guished, and occasioned some slight surprise ; by the group
around the altar, however, it was unnoticed ; and the men-at-
arms, on looking towards the narrow windows and perceiving
nothing but the intense darkness of the night, hushed the rising
exclamation, and continued in devotion. Two of the knights, too,
were observed to glance somewhat uneasily around, still nothing
was perceivable but the light wreaths of vapor penetrating
through the northern aisle, and dissolving ere long the arches of
the roof. Almost unconsciously they listened, and became aware
of some sounds in the distance, but so faint and indefinable as
to permit them to rest in the belief that it must be the men-at-
arms hurrying from the keep to the walls, although they were

244 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

certain the trumpet had not yet sounded. Determined not to
heed such vague sounds, they looked again to the altar. The
abbot had laid a trembling hand on either low -bent head, and
was emphatically pronouncing his blessing on their vows, call-
ing on heaven in its mercy to bless and keep them, and spare
them to each other for a long and happy life ; or if it must be
that a union commenced in danger should end in sorrow, to
keep them still, and fit them for a union in eternity. His
words were few but earnest, and for the first time the lip of
Agnes was observed to quiver — they were ONE. Agnes was
clasped to the heart of her husband ; she heard him call her his
own — his wife — that man should never part them more. The
voice of congratulation woke around her, but ere either could
gaze around to look their thanks, or clasp the eagerly proffered
hand, a cry of alarm, of horror, ran though the building. A
red, lurid light, impossible to be mistaken, illumined every win-
dow, as from a fearful conflagration without ; darkness had fled
before it. On all sides it was light — light the most horrible, the
most awful, though perchance the most fascinating the eye can
behold ; fearful shouts and cries, and the rush of many feet,
mingled with the now easily distinguished roar of the devour-
ing element, burst confusedly on the ear. A minute sufficed
to fling open the door of the church for knights and men-at-
arms to rush forth in one indiscriminate mass. Sir Christo-
pher would have followed them, utterly regardless of his ina-
bility, had not his wife clung to him imploringly, and effectually
restrained him. The abbot, grasping the silver crosier by his
side, with a swift, yet still majestic stride, made his way through
the church, and vanished by the widely opened door. Agnes
and Sir Nigel stood comparatively alone ; not a cry, not a word
passed her lips ; every feature was wrapped in one absorbing
look upon her husband. He had clasped his hands convul-
sively together, his brow was knit, his lip compressed, his eye
fixed and rigid, though it gazed on vacancy.

" It hath fallen, it hath fallen !" he muttered. " Fool, fool
that I was never to dream of this ! Friends, followers, all I
hold most dear, swallowed up in this fell swoop ! God of
mercy, how may it be born ! And thou, thou," he added, in in-
creased agony, roused from that stupor by the wild shouts of
" Sir Nigel, Sir Nigel ! where is he ? why does he tany in such
an hour?" that rung shrilly on the air. " Agnes, mine own,

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 245

it is not too late even now to fly. Ha ! son of Derrnid, in
good time thou art here; save her, in mercy save her!
I know not when, or how, or where we may meet again ; I
may not tarry here." He clasped her in his arms, imprinted
an impassioned kiss on her now death-like cheek, placed her at
once in the arms of the seer (who, robed as a minstrel, had stood
concealed behind a projecting pillar during the ceremony, and
now approached), and darted wildly from the church. What a
scene met his gaze ! All the buildings within the ballium,
with the sole exception of the church, were in one vivid blaze
of fire ; the old dry wood and thatch of which they were com-
posed, kindling with a mere spark. The wind blew the flames
in the direction of the principal wall, which was already ignited
from the heaps of combustibles that had been raised within for
the purpose ; although it was likely that, from its extreme
thickness and strength, the fire had there done but partial evil,
had not the conflagration within the court spread faster and
nearer every moment, and from the blazing rafters and large
masses of thatch caught by the wind and hurled on the veiy
wall, done greater and more irreparable mischief than the com-
bustibles themselves. Up, up, seeming to the very heavens, the
lurid flames ascended, blazing and roaring, and lighting the
whole scene as with the glare of day. Fantastic wreaths of red
fire danced in the air against the pitchy blackness of the heav-
ens, rising and falling in such graceful, yet terrible shapes, that
the very eye felt riveted in admiration, while the heart quailed
with horror. Backwards and forwards gleamed fhe forms of
men in the dusky glare ; and oaths and cries, and the clang of
swords, and the shrieks of women, terrified by the destruction
they had not a little assisted to ignite — the sudden rush of
horses bursting from their stables, and flying here and there,
scared by the unusual sight and horrid sounds — the hissing
streams of water which, thrown from huge buckets on the
flames, seemed but to excite them to greater fury instead of
lessening their devouring way — the crackling of straw and
wood, as of the roar of a hundred furnaces — these were the varied
sounds and sights that burst upon the eye and ear of Nigel,
as, richly attired as he was, his drawn sword in his hand, his
fair hair thrown back from his uncovered brow and head, he
stood in the very centre of the scene. One glance sufficed to
perceive that the rage of the men-at-arms was turned on their

246 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

treacherous countrymen ; that the work of war raged even
then — the swords of Scotsmen were raised against each other.
Even women fell in that fierce slaughter, for the demon of re-
venge was at work, and sought but blood. In vain the holy
abbot, heedless that one sudden gust and his flowing garments
must inevitably catch fire, uplifted his crosier, and called on
them to forbear. In vain the officers rushed amidst the infuri-
ated men, bidding them keep their weapons and their lives for
the foe, who in such a moment would assuredly be upon them ;
in vain they commanded, exhorted, implored ; but on a sudden,
the voice of Sir Nigel Bruce was heard above the tumult, loud,
stern, commanding. His form was seen hurrying from group
to group, turning back with his own sword the weapons of his
men, giving life even to those who had wrought this woe ; and
there was a sudden hush, a sudden pause.

" Peace, peace !" he cried. " Would ye all share the mad-
ness of these men ? They have hurled down destruction, let
them reap it ; let them live to thrive and fatten in their chains ;
let them feel the yoke they pine for. For us, my friends and
fellow-soldiers, let us not meet our glorious fate with the blood
of Scotsmen on our swords. We have striven for our country ;
we have striven gloriously, faithfully, and now we have but to
die for her. Ha ! do I speak in vain ? Again — back, coward !
wouldst thou slay a woman ?" and, with a sudden bound, he
stood beside one of the soldiers, who was in the act of plunging
his dagger in the breast of a kneeling and struggling female.
One moment sufficed to wrench the dagger from his grasp, and
release the woman from his hold.

" It is ill done, your lordship ; it is the fiend, the arch-fiend
that has planned it all," loudly exclaimed the man. " She has
been heard to mutter threats of vengeance, and blood and fire
against thee, and all belonging to thee. Let her not go free,
my lord ?• thou mayest repent it still."

"Repent giving a woman life? — bah! Thou art a fool,
though a faithful one," answered Sir Nigel; but even he
started as he recognized the features of Jean Roy. She gave
him no time to restrain her, however ; for, sliding from his
hold, she bounded several paces from him, singing, as she did
so, " Repent, ye shall repent ! Where is thy buxom bride ?
Jean Roy will see to her safety. A bonny courtship ye shall
have!" Tossing up her arms wildly, she vanished as she

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 247

spoke ; seeming in that light in very truth more like a fiend
than woman. A chill sunk on the heart of Nigel, but, " No,
no," he said, internally, as again he sought the spot where
confusion and horror waxed thickest ; " Dermid will care for
Agnes, and guard her. I will not think of that mad woman's
words." Yet even as he rushed onwards, giving directions,
commands, lending his aid to every effort made for extinguish-
ing the fire, a prayer for his wife was uttered in his heart.

The fire continued its rapid progress, buttress after buttress,
tower after tower caught on the walls, causing the conflagra-
tion to continue, even when, by the most strenuous efforts, it
had been partially extinguished amongst the dwellings of the
court. The wind blowing from the north fortunately preserved
the keep, inner wall, and even the church, uninjured, save
that the scorched and blackened sides of the latter gave evi-
dence of the close vicinity of the flames, and how narrowly it
had escaped. With saddened hearts, the noble defenders of
Scotland's last remaining bulwark, beheld their impregnable
wall, the scene of such dauntless valor, such unconquered strug-
gles, against which the whole force of their mighty foes had
been of no avail — that wall crumbling into dust and ashes in
their very sight, opening a broad passage to the English foe.
Yet still there was no evidence that to yield were preferable
than to die ; still, though well-nigh exhausted with their her-
culean efforts to quench the flames, there was no cessation,
no pause, although the very height of the wall prevented suc-
cess, for they had not the facilities afforded by the engines of
the present day. Sir Nigel, his knights, nay, the venerable
abbot himself, seconded every effort of the men. It seemed as
if little more could add to the horror of the scene, and yet the
shouts of " The granaries, the granaries — merciful heaven, all is
consumed !" came with such appalling consciousness on every
ear, that for a brief while, the stoutest arm hung powerless, the
firmest spirit quailed. Famine stood suddenly before them as
a gaunt, terrific spectre, whose cold hand it seemed had grasped
their very hearts. Nobles and men, knights and soldiers, alike
stood paralyzed, gazing at each other with a blank, dim, unuttera-
ble despair. The shrill blast of many trumpets, the roll of
heavy drums, broke that deep stillness. " The foe ! the foe !"
was echoed round, fiercely, yet rejoicingly. " They are upon
us — they brave the flames — well done ! Now firm and steady ;

248 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

to your arms — stand close. Sound trumpets — the defiance, the
Bruce and Scotland !" and sharply and clearly, as if but just
arrayed for battle, as if naught had chanced to bend those gal-
lant spirits to the earth, the Scottish clarions sent back their an-
swering blast, and the men gathered in compact array around
their gallant leader.

" My horse — my horse !" shouted Nigel Bruce, as he sprung
from rank to rank of the little phalanx, urging, commanding,
entreating them to make one last stand, and fall as befitted
Scottish patriots. The keep and inner ballium was still their
own as a place of retreat, however short a period it might re-
main so. A brave defence, a glorious death would still do
much for Scotland.

Shouts, cheers, blessings on his name awoke in answer, as un-
falteringly, as bravely as those of the advancing foes. Prancing,
neighing, rearing, the superb charger was at length brought
to the dauntless leader.

" Not thus, my lord ; in heaven's name, do not mount thus,
unarmed, bareheaded as thou art !" exclaimed several voices,
and two or three of his esquires crowded round him. " Retire
but for a brief space within the church."

" And turn my back upon my foes, Hubert ; not for worlds !
No, no ; bring me the greaves, gauntlets, and helmet here, if
thou wilt, and an they give me time, I will arm me in their
very teeth. Haste ye, my friends, if ye will have it so; for
myself these garments would serve me well enough ;" but ere he
ceased to speak they had flown to obey, and returned ere/oi
dozen more of the English had made their way across the crum-
bling wall. Coolly, composedly, Nigel threw aside his mantle
and doublet, and permitted his esquires to assist in arming him,
speaking at the same time in a tone so utterly unconcerned,
that ere their task was finished, his coolness had extended unto
them. He had allowed some few of the English to make an
unmolested way ; his own men were drawn up in close lines
against the inner wall, so deep in shadow that they were at first
unobserved by the English. He could perceive by the still,
clear light of the flames, troop after troop of the besiegers
were marching forward in the direction both of the causeway
and the river ; several were plunging in the moat, sword in
hand, and attack threatened on every side. He waited no lon-
ger ; springing on his charger, with a movement so sudden and

THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

unexpected, the helmet fell from his esquire's hand, and wav-
ing his sword above his undefended head, he shouted aloud his
war-cry, and dashed on, followed by his men, to the spot where
a large body of his foes already stood.

Desperately they struggled, most gallantly they fought ; man
after man of the English fell before them. On, on they strug-
gled ; a path seemed cleared before them ; the English were
bearing back, despite their continued reinforcements from the
troops, that so thronged the causeway it appeared but one mass
of men. But other shouts rent the air. The besiegers now
poured in on every side ; wherever that gallant body turned
they were met by English. On, on they came, fresh from
some hours of repose, buoyed up by the certainty of conquest ;
unnumbered swords and spears, and coats of mail, gleaming in
that lurid light ; on came the fiery steeds, urged by the spur
and rein, till through the very flames they bore their masters ;
on through the waters of the moat, up the scorching ruins, and
with a sound as of thunder, clearing with a single bound all
obstacles into the very court. It was a fearful sight ; that little
patriot band, hemmed in on every side, yet struggling to the
last, clearing a free passage through men and horse, and glan-
cing swords and closing multitudes, nearing the church, slowly,
yet surely, forming in yet closer order as they advanced ; there,
there they stood, as a single bark amid the troubled waves,
cleaving them asunder, but to close again in fatal fury on her
track.

In vain, amid that furious strife, did the Earl of Lancaster
seek out the azure plume and goklen helmet that marked the
foe he still desired to meet ; there was indeed a face, beautiful
and glorious even in that moment, ever in the very thickest of
the fight, alike the front, the centre, the rear-guard of his men ;
there was indeed that stately form, sitting his noble charger as
if horse and man were one ; and that unhelmed brow, that
beautifully formed head, with its long curls streaming in the
night wind, which towered unharmed, unbent, above his foes ;
and where that was, the last hope of his country had gathered.
The open door of the church was gained, and there the Scot-
tish patriots made a stand, defended in their rear by the build-
ing. A brief and desperate struggle partially cleared their
foes, and ere those in the rear could press forward, the be-
sieged had disappeared, and the heavy doors were closed. The

11*

250 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

sudden pause of astonishment amidst the assailants was speedily
dispelled by the heavy blows of axes and hatchets, the sudden
shout " To the wall ! to the wall !" while several ran to plant
scaling-ladders and mount the inner barrier, left unhappily un-
guarded from the diminished numbers of the Scotch ; there,
however, their progress was impeded, for the space which that
wall inclosed being scarce half the size of the ballium, and the
barrier itself uninjured, they were repulsed with loss from
within. The church -doors meanwhile had given way, and per-
mitted ingress to the assailants, but the door leading to the
passage through the inner wall, and by which in reality the
Scotch had effected their retreat, was carefully closed and
barred within, and had so completely the same appearance as
the wall of the church in which it stood, that the English gazed
round them fairly puzzled and amazed.

This movement, however, on the part of the besieged occa-
sioned a Jbrief cessation of hostilities on both sides. The flames
had subsided, except here and there, where the passing wind
fanned the red-hot embers anew into lire, and caused a flicker-
ing radiance to pass athwart the pitchy darkness of the night,
and over the bustling scene on either side the ruins.

There was no moon, and Hereford imagined the hours of
darkness might be better employed in active measures for re-
suming the attack by dawn than continuing it then. Much,
very much had been gained : a very brief struggle more he
knew must now decide it, and he hoped, though against his
better judgment, that the garrison would surrender without
further loss of blood. Terms he could not propose, none at
least that could prevail on the brave commanders to give up
with life, and so great was the admiration Nigel's conduct had
occasioned, that this true son of chivalry ardently wished he
would eventually fall in combat rather than be consigned to
the fearful fate which he knew would be inflicted on him by
the commands of Edward. Commands to the troops without
were forwarded by trusty esquires ; the wounded conveyed to
the camp, and their places supplied by fresh forces, who, with
the joyous sound of trumpet and drum, marched over by
torchlight into the ballium, so long the coveted object of their
attack.

Sir Nigel meanwhile had desired his exhausted men to lie
down in their arms, ready to start up at the faintest appearance

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 251

of renewed hostility, and utterly worn out, they most willingly
obeyed. But the young knight himself neither shared nor
sought for that repose ; he stood against a buttress on the
walls, leaning on a tall spear, and gazing at once upon his
wearied followers, and keeping a strict watch on the movements
of his foes. A tall form, clothed in complete armor, suddenly
stood beside him ; he started.

" Seaton !" he said ; " thou here, and in armor ?"

"Aye," answered the knight, his voice from very weakness
sounding hollow in his helmet. " Aye, to make one last stand,
and, if it may be, die as I have lived for Scotland. I have
strength to strike one last blow, for last it will be — all is lost !"

A low groan broke from Nigel's lips, but he made no further
answer than the utterance of one word — " Agnes !"

" Is safe, I trust," rejoined the knight. " The son of Der-
mid, in whose arms I last saw her, knoweth many a secret
path and hidden passage, and can make his way wherever his
will may lead."

" How ! thinkest thou he will preserve her, save her even
now from the foe ?"

"Aye, perchance conceal her till the castle be dismantled.
But what do they now ? See, a herald and white flag," he
added, abruptly, as by the light of several torches a trumpeter,
banner-bearer, herald, and five men-at-arms were discerned ap-
proaching the walls.

" What would ye ? Halt, and answer," demanded Sir Nigel,
recalled on the instant to his sterner duties, and advancing,
spear in hand, to the utmost verge of the wall.

" We demand speech of Sir Nigel Bruce and Sir Christopher
Seaton, governors of this castle," was the brief reply.

" Speak on, then, we are before ye, ready to list your say.
What would your lords ?"

" Give ye not admittance within the wall ?" inquired the
herald ; " 'tis somewhat strange parleying without."

" No !" answered Nigel, briefly and sternly ; "speak on, and
quickly. We doubt not the honor of the noble Earl of Here-
ford— it hath been too gloriously proved ; but we are here to
list your mission. What would ye ?"

" That ye surrender this fortress by to-morrow's dawn, and
strive no longer with the destiny against you. Ye have neither
men nor stores, and in all good and chivalric feeling, the noble

252 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

Earls of Hereford and Lancaster call on ye to surrender with-
out further loss of blood."

" And if we do this ?" demanded Nigel.

" They promise all honorable treatment and lenient captivity
to the leaders of the rebels, until the pleasure of his grace the
king be known ; protection to all females ; liberty to those
whose rank demands not their detention ; and for the common
soldiers, on the delivery of their arms and upper garments, and
their taking a solemn oath that within seven days they will
leave Scotland never to return, liberty and life shall be merci-
fully extended unto one and all."

" And if we do not this ?"

" Your blood be upon your own rebellious heads ! Sacking
and pillage must take their course."

" Ye have heard," were the sole words that passed the lips
of Nigel, turning to his men, who, roused by the first sound of
the trumpet, had started from their slumbers, and falling in a
semicircle round him and Sir Christopher, listened with intense
eagerness to the herald's words. " Ye have heard. Speak,
then — your answer; yours shall be ours."

" Death ! death ! death !" was the universally reiterated
shout. " We will struggle to the death. Our king and coun-
try shall not say we deserted them because we feared to die ;
or surrendered on terms of shame as these ! No ; let the foe
come on ! we will die, if we may not live, still patriots of Scot-
land ! King Robert will avenge us ! God save the Bruce !"

Again, and yet again they bade God bless him ; and start-
lingly and thrillingly was the united voice of that desperate,
devoted band borne on the wings of night to the very furthest
tents of their foes. Calmly Sir Nigel turned again to the
herald.

" Thou hast Scotland's answer," he said ; " 'tis in such men
as -these her glorious spirit lives ! they will fall not unavenged.
Commend us to your masters ; we await them with the dawn,"
and, turning on his heel, he reassumed the posture of thought
as if he had never been aroused.

The dawn uprose, the attack was renewed with increased
vigor, and defended with the same calm, determined spirit
which had been ever shown ; the patriots fell where they
fought, leaving fearful traces of their desperate courage in the
numbers of English that surrounded each. , It was now before

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 253

the principal entrance to the keep they made their final stand,
and horrible was the loss of life, fierce and deadly the strife,
ere that entrance was forced, and the shrieks of women and
children within proclaimed the triumph of the foe. Then came
a shout, loud ringing, joyous, echoed and re-echoed by the
blast of the trumpets both within and without, and the proud
banner of Scotland was hurled contemptuously to the earth,
and the flag of England floated in its place. Many a dying
eye, unclosed by those sudden sounds, looked on that emblem
of defeat and moved not in life again ; others sprung up to
their feet with wild shrieks of defiance, and fell back, power-
less, in death.

Sir Christopher Seaton, whose exhausted frame could barely
sustain the weight of his armor, had been taken in the first
charge, fighting bravely, but falling from exhaustion to the
earth. And where was Nigel ? — hemmed in on all sides, yet
seemingly unwounded, unconquered still, his face indeed was
deadly pale, and there were moments when his strokes flagged
as from an utter failing of strength ; but if, on observing this,
his foes pressed closer, strength appeared to return, and still,
still he struggled on. He sought for death ; he felt that he
dared his destiny, but death shunned him ; he strove with his
destiny in vain. Not thus might he fall, the young, the gener-
ous, the gifted. On foot, his armor hacked and stained with
blood, not yet had the word " yield" been shouted in his ear.

" Back, back ! leave me this glorious prize !" shouted Lan-
caster, spurring on his charger through the crowd, and leaping
from him the instant he neared the spot where Nigel stood.
" Take heed of my gallant horse, I need him not — I shall not
need him now. Ha ! bareheaded too ; well, so shall it be with
me — hand to hand, foot to foot. Turn, noble Nigel, we are
well-nigh equals now, and none shall come between us." He
hastily unclasped his helmet, threw it from his brow, and stood
in the attitude of defence.

One moment Sir Nigel paused ; his closing foes had fallen
from him at the words of their leader ; he hesitated one brief
instant as to whether indeed he should struggle more, or de-
liver up his sword to the generous earl, when the shout of tri-
umph from the topmost turret, proclaiming the raising of the
banner, fell upon his ear, and nerved him to the onset.

" Noble and generous !" he exclaimed, as their swords

254 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

crossed. " Might I choose my fate, I would fall by thy knight-
ly sword."

As stupefied with wonder at the skill, the extraordinary ve-
locity and power of the combatants, the men-at-arms stood
round, without making one movement to leave the spot ; and
fearful indeed was that deadly strife ; equal they seemed in
stature, in the use of their weapons, in every mystery of the
sword ; the eye ached with the rapid flashing of the blades,
the ear tired of the sharp, unwavering clash, but still they
quailed not, moved not from the spot where the combat had
commenced.

How long this fearful struggle would have continued, or
who would finally be victor, was undecided still, when sud-
denly the wild mocking laugh of madness sounded in the very
ear of Nigel, and a voice shouted aloud, " Fight on, my bonny
lord ; see, see, how I care for your winsome bride," and the
maniac form of Jean Roy rushed by through the thickest ranks
of the men, swift, swift as the lightning track. A veil of sil-
ver tissue floated from her shoulder, and she seemed to be
bearing something in her arms, but what, the rapidity of her
way precluded all discovery. The fierce soldiers shrunk away
from her, as if appalled by her gaunt, spectral look, or too
much scared by her sudden appearance to attempt detaining
her. The eye of Nigel involuntarily turned from his foe to
follow her ; he recognized the veil, and fancy did the rest. He
saw her near a part of the wall which was tottering beneath
the engines of the English ; there was a wild shriek in other
tones than hers, the wall fell, burying the maniac in its ruins.
A mist came over the senses of the young knight, strength
suddenly fled his arm, he stepped back as to recover himself,
but slipped and fell, the violence of the fall dashing his sword
many yards in air. " I yield me true prisoner, rescue or no
rescue," he said, in a tone so startling in its agony that the
rudest heart beside him shrunk within itself appalled, and for
a minute Lancaster checked the words upon his lips.

" Nay, nay, yield not in such tone, my gallant foe !" he
said, with eager courtesy, and with his own hand aiding him
to rise. " Would that I were the majesty of England, I should
deem myself debased did I hold such gallantry in durance.
Of a truth, thou hast robbed me of my conquest, fair sir, for it
was no skill of mine which brought thee to the ground. I may

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 255

thank that shrieking mad woman, perchance, for the preserva-
tion of my laurels."

" I give you thanks for your courtesy, my lord," replied
Sir Nigel, striving to recover himself ; " but I pray you par-
don me, if I beseech you let that falling mass be cleared at
once, and note if that unhappy woman breathes. Methought,"
he added, in stronger agitation, " she carried something in her
arms."

" She did," answered many voices ; " some child or girl,
who was struggling, though the head was muffled up as if to
prevent all sounds."

" See to it, and bring us news of what you find," said Lan-
caster, hastily, for the same ghastly expression passed over the
countenance of his prisoner as had startled him at first. " Thou
art not well, my good lord ?" he continued kindly.

" Nay, I am w«ll, my lord ; but I will go with you," replied
the young knight, slowly, as if collecting strength ere he could
speak. ""I" am wearied with the turmoil of the last twelve
hours' fighting against fire and sword at once ; I would fain
see the noble Hereford, and with his permission rest me a brief
while."

Lancaster made no further comment, and the two knights,
who but a few minutes before had been engaged in deadly
strife, now made their way together through the heaps of the
dying and the dead, through many a group of rude soldiery,
who scowled on Nigel with no friendly eye, for they only rec-
ognized him as the destroyer of hundreds of their countrymen,
not the chivalric champion who had won the enthusiastic ad-
miration of their leaders, and soon found themselves in the
castle-hall, in the presence of the Earl of Hereford, who was
surrounded by his noblest officers, Sir Christopher and Lady
Seaton, and some few other Scottish prisoners, most of whom
were badly wounded. He advanced to meet Sir Nigel, cour-
teously, though gravely.

" It grieves me," he said, " to receive as a prisoner a knight
of such high renown and such chivalric bearing as Sir Nigel
Bruce ; I would he had kept those rare qualities for the sov-
ereign to whom they were naturally due, and who would have
known how to have appreciated and honor them, rather than
shed such lustre on so weak a cause."

" Does your lordship regard the freedom of an oppressed

256 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

country so weak a cause ?" replied Nigel, the hot blood mount-
ing to his cheek ; " the rising in defence of a rightful king, in
lieu of slavishly adhering to one, who, though so powerful, all
good men, aye, even all good Englishmen, must look on, in his
claims to Scotland, as an ambitious usurper. My lord, my
lord, the spirit of Hereford spoke not in those words ; but I
forgive them, for I have much for which to proffer thanks unto
the noble Hereford, much, that his knightly soul scorned treach-
ery and gave us a fair field. Durance is but a melancholy
prospect, yet an it must be I would not nobler captors."

" Nor would I forfeit the esteem in which you hold me, gal-
lant sir," replied the earl, " and therefore do I pray you, com-
mand my services in aught that can pleasure you, and an it
interfere not with my duty to my sovereign, I shall be proud
to give them. Speak, I pray you."

" Nay, I can ask naught which the Earl of Hereford hath
not granted of himself," said Sir Nigel. " I would beseech
you to extend protection to all the females of this unhappy
castle ; to part not my sister from her lord, for, as you see, his
wounds and weakness call for woman's care ; to grant the
leech's aid to those who need it ; and if there be some un-
happy men of my faithful troop remaining, I would beseech
you show mercy unto them, and let them go free — they can
work no further ill to Edward ; they can fight no more for
Scotland, for she lieth chained ; they have no head and there-
fore no means of resistance — I beseech you give them freedom
unshackled by conditions."

" It shall be, it shall be," replied Hereford, hastily, and evi-
dently moved ; " but for thyself, young sir, thyself, can we do
naught for thee ?"

" Nothing," answered tue young man, calmly. " I need
little more on earth, for neither my youth, my birth, nor what
it pleaseth thee to term my gallantry, will save me from the
sweeping axe of Edward. I would beseech thee to let my
death atone for all, and redeem my noble friends ; but I ask it
not, for I know in this thou hast no power ; and yet, though I
ask nothing now," he added, after a brief pause, and in a lower
voice, as to be heard only by Hereford, " ere we march to
England I may have a boon to crave — protection, liberty for a
beloved one, whose fate as yet I know not." He spoke almost
inarticulately, for again it seemed the horrid words and maniac

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 257

laugh of Jean Roy resounded in his ears. There was that in
the look and manner of the English earl inviting confidence : a
moment the tortured young man longed to pour all into his
ear, to conjure him to find Agnes, and give her to his arms ;
the next he refrained, for her words, " Ask not how I will con-
trive to abide by thee undiscovered by the foe," suddenly flash-
ed on his memory, with the conviction that if she were indeed
still in life, and he acknowledged her his wife, Hereford would
feel himself compelled to keep her under restraint, as he did
Lady Seaton and the wives of other noble Scotsmen. His lip
trembled, but fortunately for the preservation of his compo-
sure, Hereford's attention was called from him by the eager
entrance of several other officers, who all crowded round him,
alike in congratulation, and waiting his commands, and per-
ceiving he was agitated, the earl turned from him with a cour-
teous bow. Eagerly he seized that moment to spring to the
side of his sister, to whisper the impatient inquiry, " Agnes,
where is Agnes ?" To feel his heart a moment throb high,
and then sink again by her reply, that she had not seen her
since he had placed her in the anus of the seer ; that in the
fearful confusion which followed, she had looked for her in
vain, examined all her accustomed haunts, but discovered no
traces of her, save the silver tissue veil. There was, however,
some hope in that ; Jean Roy, misled by the glittering article,
and seeing it perchance in the hands of another, might have
been deceived in her prey. Nay, he welcomed the uncertainty
of suspense ; there was something so fearful, so horrible in the
idea that his own faithful Agnes was among those blackened
and mangled bodies, which Lancaster informed him had been
discovered beneath the ruins, something so sickening, so re-
volting, he could not take advantage of the earl's offer to ex-
amine them himself, though, Lancaster added, it would not be
of much use, for he challenged their dearest friends to recog-
nize them. He could not believe such was her fate. Dermid
had not been seen since the fatal conclusion of their marriage ;
he knew his fidelity, his interest in both Agnes and himself,
and he could not, he would not believe the maniac had de-
coyed her from his care. But where was she ? — where, in
such a moment, could he have conveyed her? — what would
be her final fate ? — how would she rejoin him ? were ques-
tions ever thronging on his heart and brain, struggling with

258 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

doubts, with the horrible suspicion still clinging to that shriek
which had sounded as the ruins fell. Darker and more fore-
bodingly oppressive grew these conflicting thoughts, as day
after day passed, and still she came not, nor were ther^ any
tidings of the seer.

A very brief interval sufficed for the English earls to con-
clude their arrangements at Kildrummie, and prepare to march
southward, Berwick being the frontier town to which the Scot-
tish prisoners were usually conveyed. Their loss had been
greater than at any other similar siege ; more than a third of
their large army had fallen, several others were wounded, and
not much above a third remained who were fitted to continue
in arms. It was a fearful proof of the desperate valor of the
besieged, but both earls felt it would so exasperate their sover-
eign against the Scottish commanders, as to remove the slight-
est hope of mercy. The ruins were with some labor cleared
away, the remains of the outer wall levelled with the earth,
except the tower communicating with the drawbridge and bar-
bacan, which could be easily repaired. The inner wall Here-
ford likewise commanded to be restored ; the keep he turned
into a hospital for the wounded, leaving with them a sufficient
garrison to defend the castle, in case of renewed incursions of
the Scottish patriots, a case, in the present state of the country,
not very probable. True to his promise, those men-at-arms
who survived, and whose wounds permitted their removal,
Hereford set at liberty, not above ten in number ; dispirited,
heart-broken, he felt indeed there was no need to impose con-
ditions on them. Those of the traitors who remained, endeav-»
ored by cringing humility, to gain the favor of the English ;
but finding themselves shunned and despised, for the common-
est English soldier was of a nature too noble to bear with aught
of treachery, they dispersed over the country, finding little in
its miserable condition to impart enjoyment to the lives they
had enacted so base a part to preserve. It may be well to
state, ere we entirely leave the subject, that the execution of
Evan Roy exciting every evil passion in their already rebellious
hearts, had determined them to conspire for a signal revenge,
the ravings of Jean Roy and the desperate counsels of her
mother-in-law urging them to the catastrophe we have related ;
the murder of Nigel had been first planned, but dismissed as
likely to be discovered and thwarted, and bring vengeance on

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 259

their own heads instead of his. Before the execution of their
comrade and head of the conspiracy, they had only been de-
sirous of shunning the horrors of a prolonged siege ; but after-
wards, revenge became stronger than mere personal safety, and
therefore was it they refused to take advantage of the safe con-
duct demanded by Nigel, and granted, as we have said.

The Scottish prisoners were removed from the castle a few
hours after its capitulation, and placed in honorable restraint,
in separate pavilions. Lancaster, whose romantic admiration
for his antagonist had not been in the least diminished by Sir
Nigel's bearing in captivity and the lofty tone of the young
knight's society and conversation, which he frequently courted,
absolutely made him shrink from heading the force which was
to conduct him a prisoner to England, for he well knew those
very qualities, calling forth every spark of chivalry in his own
bosom, would be only so many incitements to Edward for his
instant execution. He therefore demanded that the superin-
tending the works of the garrison and keeping a strict watch
upon the movements of the adjoining country should devolve
on him, and Hereford, as the older and wiser, should conduct
his prisoners to the border, and report the events of the siege
to his sovereign. His colleague acceded, and the eighth day
from the triumph of the besiegers was fixed on to commence
their march.

It was on the evening of the seventh day that the Earl of
Hereford, then engaged in earnest council with Lancaster, on
subjects relating to their military charge, was informed that an
old man and a boy so earnestly entreated speech with him, that
they had even moved the iron heart of Hugo de 1'Orme, the
earl's esquire, who himself craved audience for them.

" They must bear some marvellous charm about them, an
they have worked upon thee, De 1'Orme," said his master,
smiling. " In good sooth, let them enter."

Yet there was nothing very striking in their appearance when
they came. The old man indeed was of a tall, almost majestic
figure, and it was only the snowy whiteness of his hair and
flowing beard that betrayed his age, for his eye was still bright,
his form unbent. He was attired as a minstrel, his viol slung
across his breast, a garb which obtained for its possessor free
entrance alike into camp and castle, hall and bower, to all par-
ties, to all lands, friendly or hostile, as it might be. His com-

260 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

panion was a slight boy, seemingly little more than thirteen or
fourteen, with small, exquisitely delicate features ; his complex-
ion either dark or sunburnt ; his eyes were bent down, and
their long, very dark lashes rested on his cheek, but when
raised, their beautiful blue seemed so little in accordance with
the brunette skin, that the sun might be deemed more at fault
than Nature ; his hair, of the darkest brown, clustered closely
round his throat in short thick curls ; his garb was that of a
page, but more rude than the general habiliments of those usu-
ally petted members of noble establishments, and favored both
Hereford and Lancaster's belief that he was either the son or
grandson of his companion.

" Ye are welcome, fair sirs," was the elder earl's kindly sal-
utation, when his esquire had retired. " Who and what are
ye, and what crave ye with me ?"

" We are Scotsmen, an it so please you, noble lords," replied
the old man; "followers and retainers of the house of Bruce,
more particularly of him so lately fallen into your power."

" Then, by mine honor, my good friends, ye had done wiser
to benefit by the liberty I promised and gave to those of his
followers who escaped this devastating siege. Wherefore are
ye here ?"

" In the name of this poor child, to beseech a boon, my noble
lord ; for me, my calling permitteth my going where I list, un-
questioned, unrestrained, and if I ask permission to abide with
ye, Scotsman and follower of the Bruce as I am, I know ye
will not say me nay."

" I would not, an ye besought such a boon, old man," an-
swered the earl ; " yet I would advise thee to tempt not thy
fate, for even thy minstrel garb, an thou braggest of thy service
to the Bruce, I cannot promise to be thy safeguard in Edward's
court, whither I give ye notice I wend my way to-morrow's
dawn. For this child, what wouldst thou — hath he no voice,
no power of his own to speak ?"

The aged minstrel looked at his charge, whose eyes were
still bent on the floor ; the heaving of his doublet denoted some
internal emotion, but ere the old man could answer for him, he
had made a few hasty steps forward, and bent his knee before
Hereford.

" 'Tis a simple boon I crave, my lord," he said, in a voice so
peculiarly sweet, that it seemed to impart new beauty to his

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 261

features ; " a very simple boon, yet my lips tremble to ask it,
for thou mayest deem it more weighty than it seemeth to me,
and thou alone canst grant it."

" Speak it, fair child, whate'er it be," replied the earl, reas-
suringly, and laying his hand caressingly on the boy's head.
" Thou art, methinks, over young to crave a boon we may not
grant ; too young, although a Scotsman, for Hereford to treat
thee aught but kindly. What wouldst thou ?"

" Permission to tend on my young lord, Sir Nigel Bruce,"
answered the boy, more firmly, and for the first time fixing the
full gaze of his beautiful eyes on the earl's face. " Oh, my
lord, what is there in that simple boon to bid thee knit thy
brow as if it must not be ?" he added, more agitated. " The
noble Hereford cannot fear a child ; or, if he doubted me, he
cannot doubt the honor of his prisoner, an honor purer unsul-
lied as his own."

" Thou speakest not as the child thou seemest," replied
Hereford, musingly ; " and yet I know not, misery makes sages
of us long ere the rose of youth hath faded. For this, thy
boon, I know not how it may be granted ; it is not usual to
permit other than English attendants on our Scottish prisoners.
Since Sir Niel Campbell's escape through the agency of his
Scottish attendant, it hath been most strictly prohibited."

" Oh, do not, do not say me nay !" entreated the boy ; " I
ask but to share his imprisonment, to be with him, serve him,
tend him. I ask no more liberty than is granted unto him ;
the rudest, coarsest fare, a little straw, or the bare ground beside
his couch. I can do naught to give him freedom, and if I could,
were there an open path before him — did I beseech him on my
knees to fly — if he hath surrendered, as I have heard, to thee,
rescue or no rescue, he would scorn my counsel, and abide thy
prisoner still. Oh, no, no ! I swear to thee I will do naught
that can make thee regret thou hast granted an orphan's
prayer."

" And who art thou that pleadeth thus ?" inquired the
earl, moved alike by the thrilling sweetness of his voice and the
earnestness of his manner. " Thou must have some wondrous
interest in him to prefer imprisonment with him to all the joys
which liberty can give."

"And I have interest," answered the boy, fervently; "the
interest of gratitude, and faithfulness, and love. An orphan,

262 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

miserably an orphan — alone upon the wide earth — he hath pro-
tected, cherished, aye, and honored me with his confidence and
love. He tended me in sorrow, and I would pour back into his
noble heart all the love, the devotion he hath excited in mine.
Little can I do, alas ! naught but love and serve ; yet, yet, I
know he would not reject even this — he would let me love him
still !"

" Grant the poor boy his boon," whispered Lancaster, hur-
riedly ; " of a truth he moveth even me."

" Thine heart is of right true mettle, my child," said his col-
league, even tenderly. " Yet bethink thee all thou must endure
if I grant thy boon ; not while with me, for there would be a
foul blot upon my escutcheon did so noble a knight as Sir Nigel
Bruce receive aught save respect and honor at my hands. But
in this business I am but a tool, an agent ; when once within
the boundaries of Edward's court, Sir Nigel is no longer my
prisoner ; I must resign him to my sovereign ; and then, I dare
not give thee hope of gentle treatment either for thyself or him."

" I will brave it," answered the boy, calmly ; " danger, aye,
death in his service, were preferable to my personal liberty,
with the torture of the thought upon me, that I shrunk from
his side when fidelity and love were most needed."

" But that very faithfulness, that very love, my child, will
make thy fate the harder ; the scaffold and the axe, if not the
cord," he added, in a low, stifled tone, " I fear me, will be his
doom, despite his youth, his gallantry — all that would make
me save him. Thou turnest pale at the bare mention of such
things, how couldst thou bear to witness them ?"

" Better than to think of them ; to sit me down in idle safety
and feel that he hath gone forth to this horrible doom, and I
have done naught to soothe and tend him on his way," replied
the boy, firmly, though his very lip blanched at Hereford's
words. " But must these things be ? Is Edward so inex-
orable ?" ^

" Aye, unto all who thwart him now," said the earl ; " there
is no hope for any of the race of Bruce. Be advised, then,
gentle boy, retain thy freedom while thou mayest."

" No, no !" he answered, passionately. " Oh, do not seek to
fright me from my purpose ; do not think aught of me, save
but to grant my boon, and oh, I will bless thee, pray for thee
to my dying hour ! thou wilt, I know thou wilt."

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 263

" I were no father could I refuse thee, my poor child," he
replied, with earnest tenderness. " Alas ! I fear me thou hast
asked but increase of misery, yet be it as thou list. And
yet," he added, after a brief pause, during which the boy had
sprung from his knee, with an inarticulate cry of joy, and flung
himself into the minstrel's arms, " Sir Nigel hath resolutely
refused the attendance of any of his former followers, who
would willingly have attended him to England. Hast thou so
much influence, thinkest thou, to change his purpose in thy
favor ?"

" I know not," answered the boy, timidly ; "yet an it please
your noble lordship to permit my pleading mine own cause
without witness, I may prevail, as I have done before."

" Be it so, then," replied the earl. " And now, ere we part,
I would bid thee remember I have trusted thee ; I have granted
that to thee, without condition, with perfect liberty of action,
which to others could only have been granted on their surren-
dering themselves, rescue or no rescue, even as thy master. I
have done this, trusting to that noble faithfulness, the candor
and honesty of youth, which hath breathed forth in all that
thou hast said. Let me not repent it. And now, Hugo de
I'Orme," he called aloud, but Lancaster himself declared his
intention of conducting the boy to Sir Nigel's tent, and the
esquire was consequently dismissed ; but ere they departed, the
boy turned once more to the aged minstrel.

" And thou — whither goest thou ?" he said, in low yet thril-
ling tones. " My more than father, thou hast seen thy child's
earnest wish fulfilled ; that for which thou didst conduct me
hither is accomplished ; yet ere I say farewell, tell me — oh, tell
me, whither goest thou ?"

" I know not," answered the old man, struggling with unex-
pressed emotion ; " yet think not of me, my child, I shall be
free, be safe, untouched by aught of personal ill, while young
and lovely ones, for whom it would be bliss to die, are crushed
and bleeding in their spring ; the mountains, and rocks, and
woods, yet unstained with blood, call on me to return, and be
at rest within their caves. The love I bear to thee and him
thou seekest hath yet a louder voice to bid me follow ye. I
know not whither I shall go, yet an my vision telleth that thou
needst my aid, I shall not be far from thee. Farewell, my
child ; and ye, true-hearted lords, the blessing pf .'in aged man

264: THE DAYS OF B.RUCE.

repay ye for the kindly deed this day that ye have done." He
pressed the boy in his arms, reverentially saluted the earls, and
passed from the tent as he spoke.

A few words passed between the warriors, and then Lan-
caster desired the page to follow him. In silence they pro-
ceeded through the camp, avoiding the more bustling parts,
where the soldiery were evidently busied in preparing for the
morrow's march, and inclining towards the wooded bank of the
river. The eye of the Earl of Lancaster had scarcely moved
from the page during his interview Avith Hereford, though the
boy, engrossed in his own feelings, had failed to remark it.
He now glanced rapidly and searchingly round him, and per-
ceiving the ground perfectly clear, not a soldier visible, he sud-
denly paused in his hasty stride, and laying his hand heavily
on the boy's shoulder, said, in a deep, impressive voice, " I
know not who or what thou art, but I love thy master, and
know that he is ill at ease, not from captivity, but from uncer-
tainty as to the fate of one beloved. If it be, as I suspect, in
thy power entirely to remove this uneasiness, be cautioned, and
whoever thou mayest be, let not one in this camp, from the
noble Earl of Hereford himself to the lowest soldier, suspect
thou art other than thou seemest — a faithful page. The rage
of Edward is deadly, and all Avho bear the name of Bruce, be
it male or female, will suffer from that wrath. Tell this to thy
lord. I ask not his confidence nor thine, nay, I would refuse
it were it offered — I would know no more than my own
thoughts, but I honor him, aye, and from my very heart I
honor thee ! Hush ! not a word in answer ; my speech is rude,
but my heart is true ; and now a few steps more and we are
there," and without waiting for reply he turned suddenly, and
the page found himself in the very centre of the camp, near the
entrance of a small pavilion, before which two sentinels were
stationed, fully armed, and pacing up and down their stated
posts; the pennon of Hereford floated from the centre staff,
above the drapery, marking the tent and all its appurtenances
peculiarly the earl's. The watchword was exchanged, and the
sentinels lowered their arms on recognizing one of their leaders.

" Let this boy have egress and ingress from and to this tent,
unquestioned and unmolested," he said ; " he has the Earl of
Hereford's permission, nay, commands, to wait on Sir Nigel
Bruce. His business lieth principally with him ; but if he hath

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 265

need to quit his side, he is to pass free. Report this to your
comrades." The soldiers bowed in respectful acquiescence.
"For thee, young man, this toy will give thee free passage
where thou listeth, none shall molest thee ; and now, farewell —
God speed thee." He unclasped a ruby brooch, curiously set
in antique gold, from his collar, and placed it in the boy's hand.

" Dost thou not enter '?" asked the page, in a voice that quiv-
ered, and the light of the torches falling full on his face dis-
closed to Lancaster a look of such voiceless gratitude, it
haunted him for many a long day.

"No," he said, half smiling, and in a. lower voice; "hast
thou forgotten thy cause was to be pleaded without witness ?
I have not, if thou hast. I will see thy noble master ere he
depart, not now ; thou wilt, I trust me, take him better com-
fort than I could."

He lifted the hangings as he spoke, and the boy passed in,
his heart beating well-nigh to suffocation as he did so. It was
in a small compartment leading to the principal chamber of the
tent he found himself at first, and Sir Nigel was not there.
With a fleet, yet noiseless movement, he drew aside the mas-
sive curtain, let it fall again behind him, and stood unperceived
in the presence of him he sought.

The brow of Sir Nigel rested on his hand, his attitude was
as one bowed and drooping 'neath despondency ; the light of
the taper fell full upon his head, bringing it out in beautiful
profile. It was not his capture alone which had made him
thus, the boy felt and knew ; the complicated evils which at-
tended his king and country in his imprisonment were yet not
sufficient to crush that spirit to the earth. It was some other
anxiety, some yet nearer woe ; there had been many strange
rumors afloat, both of Sir Nigel's bridal and the supposed fate
of that bride, and the boy, though he knew them false, aye,
and that the victim of Jean Roy was a young attendant of
Agnes, who had been collecting together the trinkets of her
mistress, to save them from the pillage which would attend the
conquest of the English, and had been thus mistaken by the
maniac — the boy, we say, though he knew this, had, instead of
denying it, encouraged the report, and therefore was at no loss
to discover his master's woe. He advanced, knelt down, and in
a trembling, husky voice, addressed him. " My lord — Sir Nigel."

The young knight started, and looked at the intruder, evi-
12

266 THE DAYS OF BKUGE.

dently without recognizing him. " What wouldst thou ?" he
said, in a tone somewhat stern. " Who art thou, thus boldly
intruding on my privacy ? Begone, I need the not !"

" The Earl of Hereford hath permitted me to tend thee, fol-
low thee," answered the page in the same subdued voice. " My
gracious lord, do not thou refuse me."

"Tend me — follow me! whither — to the scaffold? Seek
some other master, my good boy. I know thee not, and can
serve thee little, and need no earthly aid. An thou seekest
noble service, go follow Hereford ; he is a generous and knightly
lord."

"But I am Scotch, my lord, and would rather follow thee to
death than Hereford to victory."

" Poor child, poor child !" repeated Nigel, sadly. " I should
know thee, methinks, an thou wouldst follow me so faithfully,
and yet I do not. What claim have I upon thy love ?"

" Dost thou not know me, Nigel ?" The boy spoke in his
own peculiarly sweet and most thrilling voice, and raising his
head, fixed his full glance upon the knight.

A wild cry burst from Nigel's lips, he' sprang up, gazed
once again, and in another moment the page and knight had
sprung into each other's arms ; the arms of the former were
twined round the warrior's neck, and Sir Nigel had bent down
his lordly head ; burning tears and impassioned kisses were
mingled on the soft cheek that leaned against his breast.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE ancient town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, associated as it
is with Scottish and English history from the time these two
kingdoms had a name, presented a somewhat different aspect
in the year 1307 to that of the present day. The key to both
countries, it was ever a scene of struggle, unless the sister
kingdoms chanced to be at peace, an event in the middle ages
of rare occurrence, and whoever was its fortunate possessor was
undeniably considered as the greater power. Since the death
of Alexander it had been captured no less than three times by
Edward in 1296, by Wallace the succeeding year, and recap-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 267

tured by the English the following spring. To Edward, con-
sequently, it now belonged, and many and fearful had been the
sanguinary executions its walls had beheld. Its streets had
been deluged with noble Scottish blood ; its prisons filled with
the nobles of Scotland ; even high-minded women, who by
their countenance and faithfulness had given a yet higher tone
to patriotism and valor, were said to be there immured. It
might have been termed not alone the key, but the dungeon
and grave of Scotland ; and many a noble spirit which had
never quailed in the battle's front, shrunk back appalled as it
neared those dismal walls.

In the time of Edward, the fortifications, though merely con-
sisting of a deep moat and wooden palisades, instead of the
stone wall still remaining, inclosed a much larger space than
the modern town. A magnificent castle, with its "mounts,
rampiers, and flankers," its towers, walls, and courts, crowned
an easy ascent overhanging the Tweed, and was at this period
peopled by a powerful garrison, filled with immense stores, both
of arms, artillery, and provisions, and many unhappy prisoners,
who from their lonely turrets could look beyond the silver
Tweed on their own beautiful land, their hearts burning with
the vain desire to free her from her chains. Both square and
round towers guarded the palisades and moat surrounding the
town, which presented a goodly collection of churches, hospi-
tals, dwelling-houses, stores, and monastic buildings ; from all
of which crowds were continually passing and repassing on
their several ways, and forming altogether a motley assemblage
of knights, nobles, men-at-arms, archers, the various orders of
monks, the busy leech from the hospital, the peaceful burgher,
the bustling storekeeper, and artisan, noble dames and pretty
maidens — all in the picturesque costumes of the day, jostling
one another, unconscious of the curious effect they each assisted
to produce, and ever and anon came the trampling of fiery
steeds. It was a rich, thriving, bustling town, always present-
ing curious scenes of activity, at present apparently under some
excitement, which the gay knights and their followers tended
not a little to increase.

The popular excitement had, strange to say, been confined
for an unusually long time to one subject. Orders had been
received from King Edward for the erection of an extraordinary
cage or tower, curiously worked in stone and iron, on the very

268 THE DAYS OF EKTJCE.

highest turret of the castle, visible to every eye, of a circular
form, with pyramidal points, supporting gilded balls, giving it
the appearance, when completed, of a huge coronet or crown.
It was barred and cross-barred with iron on all sides, effectually
preventing egress from within, but exposing its inmate, whoever
that might be, to every passer-by. The impatient king had
commanded several of the artisans employed in its erection to
be thrown into prison, because it was not completed fast enough
to please him ; but, despite his wrath and impatience, the work
of fashioning the iron, wood, and stone, as he required, occa-
sioned them to proceed but slowly, and it was now, three
months after the royal order had been given, only just com-
pleted, and firmly fixed on the principal turret of the castle.
Day after day the people flocked to gaze and marvel for whom
it could be intended, and when it would be occupied ; their
thoughts only turned from it by the intelligence that the Earl
of Hereford, with some Scottish prisoners of high rank, was
within four-and-twenty hours' march of the town, and was there
to deliver up his captives to the seneschal of the castle, the
Earl of Berwick. At the same time rumors were afloat, that
the prisoner for whom that cage had been erected was, under a
strong guard, advancing from Carlisle, and likely to encounter
Hereford at the castle gates.

The popular excitement increased threefold ; the whole
town seemed under the influence of a restless fever, utterly
preventing the continuance of their usual avocations, or permit-
ting them to rest quiet in their houses. Crowds filled the
streets, and pressed and fumed to obtain places by the great
gates and open squares of the castle, through which both par-
ties must pass. That wind, rain, and sunshine alternately
ruled the day, was a matter of small importance ; nor did it
signify that English soldiers were returning victorious, with
Scottish prisoners, being a thing now of most common occur-
rence. Before the day was over, however, they found antici-
pation for once had been less marvellous than reality, and
stranger things were seen and heard than they had dreamed of.

From sunrise till noon they waited and watched, and waxed
impatient in vain. About that time trumpets and drums were
heard from the south, and there was a general rush towards
the bridge, and hearts beat high in expectancy of they knew
not what, as a gallant band of English archers and men-at-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

arms, headed by some few knights, were discovered slowly and
solemnly advancing from the Carlisle road. Where, and who
was the prisoner ? A person of some consequence, of danger-
ous influence it must be, else why had the king made such ex-
traordinary provision for confinement ? There were not want-
ing suggestions and guesses, and wondrous fancies ; for as yet
there was such a close guard in the centre of the cavalcade,
that the very person of the prisoner could not be distinguished.
Nay, there were some who ventured to hint and believe it might
be the excommunicated Earl of Carrick himself. It was most
likely, for whom else could the cage, so exactly like a crown,
be intended ? and there were many who vaunted the wise
policy of Edward, at having hit on such an expedient for low-
ering his rival's pride. Others, indeed, declared the idea was
all nonsense ; it was not likely he would incur such expense,
king as he was, merely to mortify a traitor he had sworn to
put to death. The argument waxed loud and warm. Mean-
while the cavalcade had crossed the bridge, been received
through the south gate, and in the same slow and solemn pomp
proceeded through the town.

" By all the saints, it is only a woman !" was the information
shouted by an eager spectator, who had clambered above the
heads of his fellows to obtain the first and most coveted view.
His words were echoed in blank amazement.

" Aye, clothed in white like a penitent, with her black hair
streaming all over her shoulders, without any covering on her
head at all, and nothing but a thin, torn sandal on her bare feet ;
and the knights look black as thunder, as if they like not the
business they are engaged in."

It was even so. There was an expression on the face of the
officers impossible to be misunderstood ; frowningly, darkly,
they obeyed their sovereign's mandate, simply because they
dared not disobey ; but there was not one among them who
would not rather have sought the most deadly front of battle
than thus conduct a woman, aye, and a most noble one, unto
her prison. The very men, rude, stern, as they mostly were,
shared this feeling ; they guarded her with lowered heads and
knitted brows ; and if either officer or man-at-arms had to ad-
dress her, it was with an involuntary yet genuine movement
and manner of respect that little accorded with their present
relative position. The crowds looked first at the cavalcade

270 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

and marvelled, then at the prisoner, and they did not marvel
more.

Clad as she was, in white, flowing garments, very similar to
those worn by penitents, her head wholly undefended from
cold or rain even by a veil ; her long, luxuriant, jet-black hair,
in which as yet, despite of care and woe, no silver thread had
mingled, falling round her from her noble brow, which shone
forth from its shade white as snow, and displaying that most
perfect face, which anguish had only chiselled into paler, purer
marble ; it could not rob it of its beauty, that beauty which is
the holy emanation of the soul, that lingered still with power
to awe the rudest heart, to bow the proudest in voluntary
respect.

The sovereign of England had commanded this solemn pro-
cession and its degrading accompaniments to humble, to crush
to dust, the woman who had dared defy his power, but it was
himself alone he humbled. As she walked there, surrounded by
guards, by gazing hundreds, on foot, and but protected from
the flinty ground by a thin sandal, her step was as firm and
unfaltering, her attitude, her bearing as dignified, as calmly,
imposingly majestic as when, in the midst of Scotland's pa-
triots, she had placed the crown on the Bruce's head. Edward
sought to debase her, but she was not debased ; to compel her
to regret the part that she had acted, but she gloried in it still ;
to acknowledge his power — but in all he failed.

Calmly and majestically the Countess of Buchan proceeded
on her way, neither looking to the right or left, nor evincing
by the slightest variation of countenance her consciousness of
the many hundreds gazing on, or that they annoyed or disturbed
her ; her spirit was wrapt in itself. We should assert false-
hood did we say she did not suffer ; she did, but it was a
mother's agony heightened by a patriot's grief. She believed
her son, who had been in truth the idol of her mourning heart,
had indeed fallen. Her Agnes was not amongst the queen's
train, of whose captivity she had been made aware, though not
allowed speech with them. Where was she — what would be
her fate ? She only knew her as a lovely, fragile flower, liable
to be crushed under the first storm ; and pictured her, rudely
severed from Nigel, perchance in the hands of some lawless
spoiler, and heart-broken, dying. Shuddering with anguish,
she thought not of her own fate — she thought but of her chil-

THE DATS OF BKUCE. 271

dren, of her country ; and if King Robert did enter these vis-
ions, it was simply as her sovereign, as one whose patriotism
would yet achieve the liberty of Scotland ; but there was a
dimness even o'er that dream, for the figure of her noble boy
was gone, naught but a blank — dull, shapeless — occupied that
spot in the vision of the future, which once his light had filled.

The castle-yard was at length gained, and a halt and some
change in the line of march ensued ; the officers and men
formed in a compact crescent, leaving the countess, a herald,
trumpeters, and some of the highest knights, in front. So in-
tense was the interest of the crowd at this moment, that they
did not heed the rapid advance of a gallant body of horse and
foot from the north, except to rail at the pressure they occasioned
in forcing their way through. They gained the castle-yard at
length, and there halted, and fell back in utter astonishment at
the scene they witnessed.

The herald had drawn a parchment from his belt, and made
a step forward as if to speak. The knights, in sullen silence,
leant upon their sheathed swords, without even glancing at
their prisoner, who appeared far the most composed and digni-
fied of all present, and, after a brief pause, words to this effect
were distinguished by the crowd.

" To our loyal and loving subjects of both North and South
Britain, Edward, by the grace of God, King of England, Wales,
France, and Scotland, greeting. Whereas Isabella, born of
Fife, and late of Buchan, which latter she hath, by foul dis-
honor and utter disregard of marriage vows, now forfeited,
hath done traitorously and disloyally alike to her sovereign lord
the king, and to her gracious lord and husband, John, Earl of
Buchan, whom, for his fidelity, we hold in good favor. As she
hath not struck by the sword, so she shall not perish by the
sword ; but for her lawless conspiracy, she shall be shut up in
a stone and iron chamber, circular as the crown she gave, in
this proclaiming to both countries her everlasting infamy. And
this we do in mercy ; for, whereas she deserveth death, we do
remit the same, and give her time to repent her of her heinous
crime.

" Given at our palace of Carlisle, this twenty-third day of
February, in the year of our Lord and Saviour, one thousand
three hundred and seven. God save the King !"

But the loyal ejaculation was not echoed, nay, the herald

272 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

himself had read the proclamation, as if every word had been
forced from him, and the eyes of every knight and soldier had
been fixed upon the ground, as if shame rested on them rather
than on their prisoner. A dead silence for a few minutes fol-
lowed, broken only by some faint cries of " God save King
Edward, and down with all traitors !" which seemed raised
more to drown the groans which involuntarily burst forth, than
as the echo of the heart. They dared not evince the faintest
sign of disapproval, for they stood on precarious ground ; a
groan even might be punished by their irritable king as treach-
ery ; but there was one present who cared little for this charge.
Scarcely had the words passed the herald's lips, before a
young man, whose bare head and lack of all weapons would
have proclaimed him one of the Earl of Hereford's prisoners,
had not the attention of all been turned from him by the ore
engrossing object, now snatching a sword from a soldier near
him, sprung from his horse, and violently attacking the herald,
exclaimed, in a voice of thunder —

" Liar and slave ! thinkest thou there is none near to give
the lie to thy foul slanders — none to defend the fair fame, the
stainless honor of this much-abused lady ? Dastard and cow-
ard, fit mouthpiece of a dishonored and blasphemous tyrant !
go tell him, his prisoner — aye, Nigel Bruce — thrusts back his
foul lies into his very teeth. Ha ! coward find slave, wouldst
thou shun me ?"

A scene of indescribable confusion now ensued. The herald,
a man not much in love with Avar, stood cowering and trem-
bling before his adversary, seeking to cover himself with his
weapon, but, from his trembling hold, ineffectually. The
stature of the youthful Scotsman appeared towering, as he
stood over him with his uplifted sword, refusing to strike a
defenceless man, but holding him with a gripe of iron ; his
cheek flushed crimson, his nostrils distended, for his soul was
moved with a mightier, darker passion than had ever stirred
its depths before. The soldiers of both parties, joined, too, by
some from the castle — for a party headed by the Earl of Ber-
wick himself had attended to give countenance to the procla-
mation— rushed forward, but involuntarily fell back, awed for
the moment by the mighty spirit of one man ; the knights,
roused from their sullen posture, looked much as if they would,
if they dared, have left the herald to his fate. Hereford and

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 273

Berwick at the same instant spurred forward their steeds, the
one exclaiming, " Madman, let go your hold — you are tempt-
ing your own fate ! Nigel, for the love of heaven ! for the
sake of those that love you, be not so rash !" the other thun-
dering forth, " Cut down the traitor, an he will not loose his
hold. Forward, cowardly knaves ! will ye hear your king in-
sulted, and not revenge it ? — forward, I say ! fear ye a single
man ?"

And numbers, spurred on by his words, dashed forward to
obey him, but fearlessly Sir Nigel Bruce retained his hold with
his left hand, and with his right grasped tighter his sword, and
stood, with the fierce undaunted port of a lion lashed into fury,
gazing on his foes; but ere he had crossed with the foremost
weapons, a slight lad burst through the gathering crowd, and
with a piercing shriek threw himself at his master's feet, and
grasping his knees, seemed by his pleading looks, for his words
were inaudible, imploring him to desist from his rashness. At
the same moment another form pressed through the soldiers,
her look, her mien compelling them involuntarily to open their
ranks and give her passage. The sword of Nigel was in the
act of falling on a second foe, the first lay at his feet, when his
arm was caught in its descent, and Isabella of Buchan stood at
his side.

" Forbear !" she said, in those rich impressive tones that ever
forced obedience. " Nigel Bruce, brother of my sovereign,
friend of my son, forbear ! strike not one blow for me. Mine
honor needs no defence by those that love me ; my country
will acquit me ; the words of England's monarch, angered at a
woman's defiance of his power, affect me not ! Noble Nigel,
excite not further wrath against thyself by this vain struggle
for my sake ; put up thy sword, ere it is forced from thee.
Let go thy hold ; this man is but an instrument, why wreak
thy wrath on him ? Must I speak, implore in vain ? Nay,
then, I do command thee !"

And those who gazed on her, as she drew that stately form
to its full height, as they heard those accents of imperative
command, scarce marvelled that Edward should dread her in-
fluence, woman as she was. Despite the increasing wrath on
the Earl of Berwick's brow, the men waited to see the effect of
these words. There was still an expression of ill-controlled
passion on Nigel's features. He waited one moment when she

12*

274 THE DAYS OF BKTJCE.

ceased to speak, then slowly and deliberately shook the herald
by the collar, and hurled him from his hold; snapped his
sword in twain, and flinging it from him, folded his arms on his
breast, and calmly uttering, "Pardon me, noble lady, mine
honor were impugned had I suffered that dastardly villain to
pass hence unpunished — let Edward act as he lists, it matters
little now," waited with impenetrable resolve the rage he had
provoked.

" Nigel, Nigel, rash, impetuous boy, what hast thou done ?"
exclaimed the countess, losing all mien and accent of command
in the terror with which she clung round him, as if to protect
him from all ill, in the tone and look of maternal tenderness
with which she addressed him. " Why, why must it be my
ill fate to hurl down increase of misery and danger on all whom
Hove?"

" Speak not so, noble lady, in mercy do not !" he whispered
in reply ; " keep that undaunted spirit shown but now, I can
better bear it than this voice of anguish. And thou," he added,
laying his hand on the shoulder of the boy, who still clung
to his knees, as if fascinated there by speechless terror, and
gazed alternately on him and the countess with eyes glazed
almost in madness, " up, up ; this is no place for thee. What
can they do with me but slay — let them come on — better, far
better than a scaffold !" but the boy moved not, Nigel spoke
in vain.

The fate he dared seemed indeed threatening. Wrought
well-nigh to phrensy at this daring insult to his sovereign, in
whose acts of cruelty and oppression he could far better sym-
pathize than in his more knightly qualities, the Earl of Berwick
loudly and fiercely called on his soldiers to advance and cut
down the traitor, to bring the heaviest fetters and bear him to
the lowest dungeon. The men, roused from their stupor of
amaze, rushed on impetuously to obey him ; their naked swords
already gleamed round^ Nigel ; the Countess of Buchan was
torn from his side, her own especial guards closing darkly
around her ; but vainly did they seek to unclasp the convulsive
grasp of the boy from Nigel, he neither shrieked nor spake, but
he remained in that one posture, rigid as stone.

" Fiends ! monsters ! would ye, dare ye touch a boy, a child
as this !" shouted Nigel, struggling with herculean strength
to free himself from the rude grasp of the soldiers, as he be-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 275

held the sharp steel pointed at the breast of the boy, to com-
pel him to unloose his hold. " Villains, cowards ! bear back
and let me speak with him," and nerved to madness by the
violence of his emotions, he suddenly wrenched himself away,
the rapidity of the movement throwing one of the men to the
earth, and bent over the boy ; again they rushed forward, they
closed upon him, they tore away the lad by force of numbers,
and flung him senseless on the earth ; they sought to bear
away their prisoner, but at that moment Hereford, who had
been parleying loudly and wrathfully with Berwick, spurred
his charger in the very midst of them, and compelled them to
bear back.

" Back, back !" he exclaimed, making a path for himself with
his drawn sword ; " how dare ye thrust yourselves betwixt me
and my lawful prisoner, captive of my sword and power ? what
right have ye to dare detain him ? Let go yoar hoU, none
but the men whose prowess gained this gallant prize shall
guard him till my sovereign's will be known. Back, back, I
say !"

" Traitor !" retorted Berwick, " he is no longer your prisoner.
An insult offered to King Edward, in the loyal citadel of Ber-
wick, in my very presence, his representative as I stand, shall
meet with fit retribution. He hath insulted his sovereign by
act and word, and I attach him of high treason and will enforce
my charge. Forward, I say !"

" And I say back !" shouted the Earl of Hereford ; " I tell
thee, proud earl, he is my prisoner, and mine alone. Thou
mayest vaunt thy loyalty, thy representation of majesty, as thou
listeth, mine hath been proved at the good sword's point, and
Edward will deem me no traitor because I protect a captive,
who hath surrendered himself a knight to a knight, rescue or
no rescue, from this unseemly violence. I bandy no more
words with such" as thee ; back ! the first man that dares lay
hold on him I chastise with my sword."

" Thou shalt repent this !" muttered Berwick, with a sup-
pressed yet terrible oath, but he dared proceed no further.

A signal from their leader brought up all Hereford's men,
who, in compact order and perfect silence, surrounded their
prisoner. Sternly the earl called for a pair of handcuffs, and
with his own hands fastened them on his captive. " It grieves
me," he said, " to see a brave man thus manacled, but thine

276 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

own mad act hath brought it on thyself. And now, my Lord
of Berwick, an it please thee to proceed, we demand admission
to thy citadel in King Edward's name. Bring up the other
prisoners."

Concealing his wrath with difficulty, the Earl of Berwick
and his attendants dashed forward over the drawbridge into
the castle at full speed, closing the gates and lowering the
portcullis after them. After a brief space, the portcullis was
again raised, the gates flung wide apart, and the men-at-arms
were discerned lining either side, in all due form and homage
to the officers of their sovereign. During the wrathful words
passing between the two earls, the attention of the crowd had
been given alternately to them and to the Countess of Buchan,
who had utterly forgotten her own precarious situation in anx-
iety for Nigel, and in pity for the unfortunate child, who had
been hurled by the soldiers close to the spot where she stood.

" Do not leave him there, he will be trampled on," she said,
imploringly, to the officers beside her. " He can do no harm,
poor child, Scotch though he be. A little water, only bring
me a little water, and he will speedily recover."

All she desired was done, the boy was tenderly raised and
brought within the circle of her guards, and laid on the ground
at her feet. She knelt down beside him, chafed his cold hands
within her own, and moistened his lips and brow with water.
After a while his scattered senses returned, he started up in a
sitting posture, and gazed in wild inquiry around him, uttering
a few inarticulate words, and then saying aloud, " Sir Nigel,
my lord, my — my — master, where is he ? oh ! let me go to
him ; why am I here ?"

" Thou shalt go to him, poor boy, as soon as thy strength
returns ; an they have let thee follow him from Scotland, surely
they will not part ye now," said the countess soothingly, and
her voice seemed to rouse the lad into more consciousness.
He gazed long in her face, with an expression which at that
time she could not define, but which startled and affected her,
and she put her arm round him and kissed his brow. A con-
vulsive almost agonized sob broke from the boy's breast, and
caused his slight frame to shake as with an ague, then sud-
denly he knelt before her, and, in accents barely articulate,
murmured —

" Bless me, oh bless me !" while another word seemed strug-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 277

gling for utterance, but checked with an effort which caused it
to die on his lips in indistinct murmurs.

" Bless thee, poor child ! from my very heart I do, if the
blessing of one sorrowing and afflicted as myself can in aught
avail thee. For thy faithfulness to thy master, I bless thee,
for it speaketh well for thee, and that face would bid me love
and bless thee for thyself, I know not wherefore. Good angels
keep and bless thee, gentle boy ! thou hast Isabella's prayers,
and may they give thee peace."

" Pray for me, aye, pray for me," repeated the boy, in the same
murmured tones. He clasped her hands in both his, he pressed
them again and again to his lips, repeated sobs burst from his
laboring breast, and then he sprung up, darted away, and stood
at Sir Nigel's side, just as the Earl of Hereford had commanded
his men to wheel a little to the right, to permit the Countess of
Buchan, her guards and officers, free passage over the draw-
bridge, and first entrance within the fortress.

The brow of this noble son of chivalry darkened as, sitting
motionless on his tall steed, his gaze rested on the noble woman
whom it had originally been his painful charge to deliver over
to his sovereign. He had not dreamed of a vengeance such as
this. He could not have believed a change so dark as this had
fallen on the character of a sovereign whom he still loved, still
sought to admire and revere, and his spirit sunk 'neath the
sorrow this conviction caused. Almost involuntarily, as the
procession slowly proceeded, and the countess passed within
three paces of his horse's head, he bent his lordly brow in silent
homage ; she saw it and returned it, more effected by the un-
feigned commiseration on that warrior's face, than at aught
which had occurred to shame and humble her that morning.

A brief pause took place in the movements of the officers and
their prisoners, when they reached the great hall of the castle.
For a brief minute Lady Seaton and the Countess of Buchan
had met, had clasped hands, in sad, yet eager greeting. " My
child, mine Agnes ?" had been by the latter hurriedly whis-
pered, and the answer, " Safe, I trust, safe," just permitted to
reach her ear, when roughly and fiercely the Earl of Berwick
summoned the Lady of Buchan to proceed to the chamber ap-
pointed for her use. Those simple words had, however, re-
moved a load of anxiety from her mind, for they appeared to
confirm what she had sometimes permitted herself to hope,

278 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

that Agnes had shared King Robert's exile, under the care of
Lady Campbell ; prevailed on to do so, perchance, by the en-
treaties of Nigel, who in all probability had deemed that course,
though one of hardship, less perilous than remaining with him.
She hoped indeed against her better judgment, for though she
knew not the depth, the might of her daughter's feelings, she
knew it must have been a terrible trial so to part, and she ab-
solutely shuddered when she thought of the whelming blow it
would be to that young heart when the fate of her betrothed
was ascertained.

Lady Seaton had spoken as she believed. No communication
had been permitted between the prisoners on their way to
England ; indeed, from Sir Christopher's wounded and ex-
hausted state, he had travelled more leisurely in a litter, always
in the rear of the earl's detachment, and occupied by her close
attendance upon him, his wife had scarcely been aware of the
young page ever in attendance on her brother, or deemed him,
if she did observe him, a retainer of Hereford's own. There
was so much of fearful peril and misery hovering over her in
her husband's fate, that it was not much wonder her thoughts
lingered there more than on Agnes, and that she was contented
to believe as she had spoken, that she at least was safe.

Night fell on the town of Berwick. Silence and darkness
had come on her brooding wings ; the varied excitement of the
day was now but a matter of wondering commune round the
many blazing hearths, where the busy crowds of the morning
had now gathered. Night came, with her closing pall, her
softened memories, her sleeping visions, and sad waking dreams.
She had come, alike to the mourned and mourner, the con-
queror and his captive, the happy and the wretched. She had
found the Earl of Berwick pacing up and down his stately
chamber, his curtained couch unsought, devising schemes to
lower the haughty pride of the gallant warrior whom he yet
feared. She had looked softly within the room where that
warrior lay, and found him, too, sleepless, but not from the
same dark dreams. He grieved for his sovereign, for the fate
of one noble spirit shrined in a woman's form, and restless and
fevered, turned again and again within his mind how he might
save from a yet darker doom the gallant youth his arms had
conquered. And not alone on them did night look down. She
sent her sweet, reviving influence, on the rays of a bright liquid

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 279

star, through the narrow casement which gave light to the rude
unfurnished chamber where Sir Nigel Bruce and his attendant
lay. They had not torn that poor faithful child from his side.
Hereford's last commands had been that they should not part
them, and there they now lay ; and sleep, balmy sleep had for
them descended on the wings of night, hovering over that hum-
ble pallet of straw, when from the curtained couch of power,
the downy bed of luxury, she fled. There they lay ; but it
was the boy who lay on the pallet of straw, his head pillowed
by the arm of the knight, who sat on a wooden settle at his
side. He had watched for a brief space those troubled slum-
bers, but as they grew calmer and calmer, he had pressed one
light kiss on the soft yielding cheek, and then leant his head
on his breast, and he too slept— even in sleep tending one be-
loved.

And in the dark, close sleeping- chamber within the prison
cage of the noble Countess of Buchan, night too looked pity-
ingly. Sleep indeed was not there ; it had come and gone,
for in a troubled slumber a dream had come of Agnes, and she
had woke to think upon her child, and pray for her ; and as
she prayed, she thought of her promise to the poor boy who
had so strangely moved her. She could not trace how one
thought had sprung from the other, nor why in the darkness
his features so suddenly flashed before her ; but so it was. His
face seemed to gleam upon her with the same strange, indefina-
ble expression which, even at the time, had startled her ; and
then a sudden flash appeared to illumine that darkness of be-
wilderment. She started up from her reclining posture ; she
pressed both hands on her throbbing eyeballs ; a wild, sickening
yearning took possession of her whole soul ; and then she felt,
in its full bitterness, she was a chained and guarded prisoner ;
and the deep anguish of her spirit found vent in the convulsive
cry —

" Fool, fool that I was — my child ! my child !"

CHAPTER XXII.

LEAVING the goodly town of Berwick and its busy citizens,
its castle and its prisoners, for a brief space, we must now trans-

280 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

port our readers to a pleasant chamber overlooking the Eden,
in the castle of Carlisle, now a royal residence ; a fact which,
from its numerous noble inmates, its concourse of pages,
esquires, guards, and various other retainers of a royal estab-
lishment, the constant ingress and egress of richly-attired
courtiers, the somewhat bustling, yet deferential aspect of the
scene, a very cursory glance would have been all-sufficient to
prove.

It had been with a full determination to set all obstacles,
even disease itself, at defiance, King Edward, some months be-
before, had quitted Winchester, and directed his march towards
the North, vowing vengeance on the rebellious and disaffected
Scots, and swearing death alone should prevent the complete
and terrible extermination of the traitors. He had proceeded
in this spirit to Carlisle, disregarding the threatening violence
of disease, so sustained by the spirit of disappointed ambition
within as scarcely to be conscious of an almost prostrating in-
crease of weakness and exhaustion. He had determined to
make a halt of some weeks at Carlisle, to wait the effect of the
large armies he had sent forward to overrun Scotland, and to
receive intelligence of the measures they had already taken.
Here, then, disease, as if enraged that he should have borne up
so long, that his spirit had mastered even her, convened the
whole powers of suffering, and compelled him not alone to
acknowledge, but to writhe beneath her sway. His whole
frame was shaken ; intolerable pains took possession of him,
and though the virulence of the complaint was at length so
far abated as to permit him a short continuance of life, he
could never sit his horse again, or even hope to carry on in his
own person his plans for the total reduction of Scotland. But
as his frame weakened, as he became the victim of almost con-
tinual pain, all the darker and fiercer passions of his nature
gained yet more fearful ascendency. The change had been
some time gathering, but within the last twelve months its
effects were such, that his noblest, most devoted knights, blind
as their affection for his person rendered them, could scarce
recognize in the bloodthirsty, ambitious tyrant they now beheld
their gallant, generous, humane, and most chivalric sovereign,
who had won golden opinions from all sorts and conditions of
men ; who had performed the duties of a son and husband so
as to fix the eyes of all Europe on him in admiration ; who had

THE BAYS OF BKUCE. 'A )l

swayed the sceptre of his mighty kingdom with sur.h a power-
ful and fearless hand, it had been long since England had ac-
quired such weight in the scale of kingdoms. Wise, moderate,
merciful even in strict justice as he had been, could it be that
ambition had wrought such change ; that disease had banished
overy feeling from his breast, save this one dark, fiend-like pas-
sion, for the furtherance of which, or in revenge of its dis-
appointment, noble blood flowed like water — the brave, the
good, the young, the old, the noble and his follower, alike fell
Jefore the axe or the cord of the executioner ? Could it indeed
\£ that Edward, once such a perfect, glorious scion of chivalry,
had now shut up his heart against its every whisper, lest it
should interfere with his brooding visions of revenge ; forgot
each feeling, lest he should involuntarily sympathize with the
noble and knightly spirit of the patriots of Scotland, whom he
had sworn to crush ? Alas ! it was even so ; ruthless and
tyrannical, the nobles he had once favored, once loved, now be-
came odious to him, for their presence made him painfully con-
scious of the change within himself ; and he now associated
but with spirits dark, fierce, cruel as his own — men he would
once have shunned, have banished from his court, as utterly
unworthy of his favor.

It was, then, in a royally-furnished chamber, pleasantly
overlooking the river Eden and the adjoining country, that
about a week after the events narrated in the preceding chap-
ter, King Edward reclined. His couch was softly and luxu-
riously cushioned, and not a little art had been expended
in the endeavor to lighten his sufferings, and enable him, to rest
at ease. The repeated contraction of his countenance, how-
ever, betrayed how impotent was even luxury when, brought
in contact with disease. The richly-furred and wadded crim-
son velvet robe could not conceal the attenuation of his once
peculiarly fine and noble form ; his great length of limb, which
had gained him, and handed down to posterity, the inelegant
surname of Longshanks, rendered his appearance yet more
gaunt and meagre ; while his features, which once, from the
benignity and nobleness of his character, had been eminently
handsome, now pale, thin, and pointed, seemed to express but
the one passion of his soul — its gratification of revenge. His
expansive brow was now contracted and stern, rendered more
so perhaps by the lack of hair about the temples ; he wore a

282 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

black velvet cap, circled coronet-wise with large diamonds,
from which a white feather drooped to his shoulder. There
was a slight, scarcely visible, sneer resting on his features that
morning, called forth perhaps by his internal scorn of the noble
with whom he had deigned a secret conference ; but the Earl
of Buchan had done him good service, had ably forwarded
his revenge, and he would not therefore listen to that still voice
of scorn.

" Soli ! she is secure, and your desires on that head accom-
plished, sir earl," he said, in continuance of some subject they
had been discussing. " Thou hast done us good service, and
by mine honor, it would seem we have done your lordship the
same."

" Aye," muttered the earl, whose dark features had not
grown a whit more amiable since we last beheld him ; " aye,
we are both avenged."

" How, sir ! darest thou place thyself on a par with me ?"
angrily retorted Edward ; " thinkest thou the sovereign of Eng-
land can have aught in common with such as thee ? Isabella
of Buchan, or of Fife, an thou likest that better, is debased,
imprisoned, because she hath dared insult our person, defy our
authority, to act treasonably and mischievously, and sow dis-
sension and rebellion amid our Scottish subjects — for this she
is chastised ; an it gratify your matrimonial revenge, I am glad
on't ; but Edward of England brooks no equality with Comyn
of Buchan, though it be but equality in revenge."

Buchan bent his kee, and humbly apologized.

" Well, well, let it be ; thou hast served us too faithfully to
be quarrelled with, for perchance unintentional irreverence.
The imposition of her child's murder, when he lives and is well,
is the coinage of thine own brain, sir earl, and thou must rec-
oncile it to thine own conscience. We hold ourselves exempt
from all such peculiar mercy, for we scarce see its wisdom."
There was a slight bitterness in Edward's tone.

" Wisdom, my sovereign liege, deemest thou there is no
wisdom in revenge ?" and the brow of the earl grew dark with
passion, as he spoke. " Have I naught to punish, naught to
avenge in this foul traitress — naught, that her black treachery
has extended to my son, my heir, even to his tender years ?
I would not have her death ; no, let her live and feed on the
belief that her example, her counsels have killed her own

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 283

child ; that had it not been for her, he might have lived, been
prosperous, aye, and happy now. Is there no wisdom in such
revenge ? and if there be none, save that which my own heart
feels, I could give your grace another and a better reason for
this proceeding."

" Speak it, in St. George's name," replied the king ; " of a
truth thou art of most clear conception in all schemes of ven-
geance. I might have thought long enough, ere I could have
lighted on such as this. What more ?"

" Simply, your grace, that by encouraging a little while the
report of his death, his friends in Scotland will forget that he
ever existed, and make no effort for his rescue ; which belief,
wild and unfounded as it is, I imagine supports him in his
strenuous determination to live and die a traitor to your high-
ness. I have no hatred to the boy ; nay, an he would let me,
could love and be proud of him, now his mother cannot cross
my path, and would gladly see him devoted, as myself, to the
interests of your grace. Nor do I despair of this ; he is very
young, and his character cannot be entirely formed. He will
tire in time of dark and solitary confinement, and gladly accept
any conditions I may offer."

" Gives he any proof as yet of this yielding mood ?"

" By mine honor, no, your highness ; he is firm and stead-
fast as the ocean rock."

" Then wherefore thinkest thou he will change in time ?"

" Because as yet, my gracious liege, the foul, treacherous
principles of his mother have not ceased to work. An entire
cessation of intercourse between them will show him his mis-
take at last, and this could never be, did she know he lived.
Imprisoned, guarded as she is, she would yet find some means
of communication with him, and all my efforts would be of no
avail. Let a year roll by, and I will stake my right hand that
Alan of Buchan becomes as firm a supporter and follower of
King Edward as ever his father was. Is the boy more than
mortal, and does your grace think life, liberty, riches, honors,
will not weigh against perpetual imprisonment and daily thoughts
of death ?"

So spoke the Earl of Buchan, judging, as most men, others
by himself, utterly unable to comprehend the high, glorious,
self-devoted, patriotic spirit of his noble son. He persevered
in his course of fiend-like cruelty, excusing it to his own con-

284 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

science, if he had any, by the belief it would end but in his
son's good — an end, indeed, he seldom thought of attaining ; but
there was something in the idea of a son, an heir, and one so
prepossessing in appearance as Alan of Buchan, that touched
his pride, the only point on which his flinty heart was vulner-
able.

" So thou thinkest, sir earl ?" resumed the king, who per-
haps in his own secret soul did not entirely think with him.
" Meanwhile the stripling may laugh thy parental care to scorn,
by escaping from iron chains and stone walls, and seeking out
the arch rebel Bruce, make up at the sword's point for lost time.
Beware, sir earl, an he be taken again thus in arms against us,
even thy loyal services will not save his head !"

" I should not even ask your grace's clemency," replied the
earl, his features assuming a fearful expression as he spoke.
" An he thus turned traitor again to his father's house, spurn-
ing mine and your grace's favor, to join the base murderer of
his kinsman, he shall be no more to me than others, whose
treason hath cost their heads ; but I have no fear of this. He
cannot escape, guarded as he is, by alike the most ruthless and
the most faithful of my followers ; and while there, if all else
fail, I will publish that he lives, but so poison the ears of his
rebel Scottish friends against him, he will not, dare not join
them, and in his own despite, will be compelled to act as be-
fitting his father's son. Trust me, my liege. To thy royal
clemency I owe his life ; be it my duty, then, to instil into him
other principles than those which actuated him before."

" But your own character, my lord, meanwhile, care ye
naught for the stain supposed to rest upon it? Thy plans
sound wise, and we thank thee for thy loyalty ; but we would
not ye burdened your name with a deed not its own, an ye
cared for the world's applause."

" Not a whit, not a whit, your highness ; countenanced by
your grace's favor, absolved in your opinion from the barbarity
others charge me with, I care not for them. I have been too
long mine own conscience-keeper to heed the whispers of the
world," he added, his dark brows knitting closer as he spoke.

Edward smiled grimly. " Be it so, then," he said ; " my
Lord of Buchan, we understand each other. An that boy
escapes and rejoins the traitors, and is taken, his head answers
for it. An ye succeed in making him loyal as yourself, as eager

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 285

a pursuer of the murderous traitor, Bruce, we will give thee
the palm for policy and wisdom in our court, ourself not ex-
cepted. And now another question ; it was reported Isabella
of Buchan joined the rebel's court with her two children. Who
and where is the second ? we have heard but of one."

" A puny, spiritless wench, as I have heard, my liege ; one
little likely to affect your highness, and not worth the seeking."

" Nay, an she hath her mother's influence, we differ from
thee, sir earl, and would rather see her within the walls of
our court than in the traitor's train. I remember not her name
amid those taken with the Bruce's wife. Hast inquired aught
concerning her ?"

" Not I, your grace," carelessly replied the earl ; " of a
truth, I had weightier thoughts than the detention or interest
of a simple wench, who, if her mother has taught to forget me
as her father, is not worth my remembering as a child."

" I give you joy of your most fatherly indifference, sir earl,"
answered the king, with an ill-suppressed sneer. " It would
concern you little if she takes unto herself a husband midst
your foes ; the rebel Robert hath goodly brothers, and the
feud between thy house and theirs may but impart a double
enjoyment to the union."

The earl started, as if an adder had stung him. " She dare
not do this thing," he said, fiercely ; " she will not — she dare
not. A thousand curses light upon her head even if she dreams
it!"

" Nay, waste not thy breath in curses, good my lord, but up
an prevent the very possibility of such a thing, an it move thee
so deeply. I say not it is, but some such floating rumor has
reached my ears, I can scarce trace how, save through the
medium of our numerous prisoners."

" But how obtain information — where seek her ? I pray
you pardon me, your grace, but there are a thousand furies in
the thought !" and scarcely could the consciousness of the royal
presence restrain the rage which gathered on the swarthy fea-
tures of the earl from finding vent in words.

" Nay, nay, my lord, let not your marvellous wisdom and
sage indifference be so speedily at fault. An she be not in
Margaret Bruce's train, that goodly dame may give thee some
information. Seek her, and may be thou wilt learn more of
this wench than thou hast since her birth. In pity to this sud-

286 TUB DAYS OF BRUCE.

den interest, we grant thee permission to visit these partners of
treason in their respective convents, and learn what thou canst ;
an she be within thy reach, be advised, and find her a husband
thyself, the best and most speedy means of eradicating her
mother's counsels."

Buchan's reply was arrested on his lips by the entrance of
the royal chamberlain, announcing that the Earl of Berwick
had arrived in all haste from Berwick, and earnestly besought
a few minutes' audience with his sovereign.

" Berwick !" repeated Edward, half raising himself in his
surprise from his reclining posture. " Berwick ! what the foul
fiend brings him from his post at such a time ? Bid him enter ;
haste, I charge thee."

His impatient command was speedily obeyed. The Earl of
Berwick was close on the heels of the chamberlain, and now
appeared, his lowly obeisance not concealing from the quick
eye of his master that wrath, black as a thunder-cloud, was
resting on his brow.

" How now," said the king, " what means this unseemly
gear, sir earl ? thou must have neither rested spur nor slack-
ened rein, methinks, an thy garb tell truth ; and wherefore
seekest thou our presence in such fiery haste ? Wouldst thou
be private ? My Lord of Buchan, thou hadst best follow our
counsel ere thy interest cools."

" Nay, your grace, bid not yon noble earl depart to grant
me hearing ; I would speak before him, aye, and the whole
court, were it needed. Tis but to lay the sword and mantle,
with which your highness invested me as governor of the cita-
del of Berwick, at your grace's feet, and beseech you to accept
my resignation of the same." With well-affected humility the
Earl of Berwick unclasped his jewelled mantle, and kneeling
down, laid it with his sheathed sword at King Edward's feet,
remaining on his knee.

" Art craven, fool, or traitor ?" demanded Edward, when his
astonishment permitted words. " What means this ? Speak
out, and instantly ; we are not wont to be thus trifled with.
My Lord of Berwick, wherefore dost thou do this ?"

" Not because I am a craven, good my liege," replied the
nobleman, still on his knee, " for had I been so, King Edward's
penetration would have discovered it ere he intrusted me with
so great a charge— nor because I am a witless fool, unconscious

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 287

of the high honor I thus tamely resign — and not because I am
a traitor, gracious sovereign, for 'tis from insult and interruption
in the arrest of a blasphemous traitor I am here."

" Insult — interruption !" fiercely exclaimed the king, starting
up. " Who has dared — who loves his life so little as to do
this ? But speak on, speak on, we listen."

"Pardon me, your highness, I came to tender my resigna-
tion, not an accusation," resumed the wily earl, cautiously lash-
ing his sovereign into fury, aware that it was much easier to
gain what he wished in such moods than as he found him now.
" I came but to beseech your highness to resume that which
your own royal hands had given me. My authority trampled
upon, my loyalty insulted, my zeal in your grace's service de-
rided, my very men compelled, perforce of arms, to disobey
me, and this by one high in your grace's estimation, nay, con-
nected with your royal self. Surely, my gracious liege, I do
but right in resigning the high honor your highness bestowed.
I can have little merit to retain it, and such things be."

" But they shall not be, sir. As there is a God above us,
they shall not be !" exclaimed the king, in towering wrath, and
striking his hand on a small table of crystal near him with such
violence as to shiver it to pieces. " By heaven and hell ! they
shall repent this, be it mine own son who hath been thus inso-
lent. Speak out, I tell thee, as thou lovest thy life, speak out ;
drive me not mad by this cautiously- worded tale. Who hath
dared trample on authority mine own hand and seal hath giv-
en— who is the traitor ? Speak out, I charge thee !" and
strengthened by hfs own passion, the king sate upright on his
couch, clenching his hand till the blood sprung, and fixing his
dark, fiery eyes on the earl. It was the mood he had tried
for, and now artfully and speciously, with many additions, he
narrated all that had passed the preceding day in the castle-
yard of Berwick. Fiercer and fiercer waxed the wrath of the
king.

" Fling him in the lowest dungeon, load him with the heavi-
est fetters hands can forge !" were the words first distinguished,
when passion permitted articulation. " The villain, the black-
faced traitor ! it is not enough he hath dared raise arms against
me, but he must beard me to the very teeth, defy me in my
very palace, throw scorn upon me, maltreat an officer of mine
own person ! Is there no punishment but death for this foul

THE DAYS OF BRUCE

insolence ! As there is a God in heaven, he shall feel my ven-
geance ere he reach the scaffold — feel it, aye, till death be but
too welcome !" He sunk back, exhausted by his own violence ;
but not a minute passed ere again he burst forth. " And Here-
ford, the traitor Hereford, he dared defend him ! dared assault
thee in the pursuance of thy duty, the audacious insolent !
Doth he think, forsooth, his work in Scotland will exempt him
from the punishment of insolence, of treason ? as an aider and
abettor of treachery he shares its guilt, and shall know whom
he hath insulted. Back to thy citadel, my Lord of Berwick,
see to the strict incarceration of this foul branch of treachery,
aye, and look well about ye, lest any seditious citizen or soldier
hath, by look or word, given aught of encouragement, or failed
in due respect to our proclamation. An Hereford abet the
traitor, others may be but too willing to do the like. By
heaven, they shall share his fate ! Bid Hereford hither on the
instant, say naught of having been beforehand with him ; I
would list the insplent's own tale. Rest thee a brief while, my
lord, and our great seal shall insure thee prompt obedience.
Bid Sir Edmund Stanley attend us, my Lord of Buchan. I
need scarce warn a Comyn to be secret on what has passed ; I
would not have the foul insolence cast into our teeth as yet
proclaimed. Begone, both of ye ; we would be a brief space
alone."

The deadly pallor which had usurped the flush of fury on
the monarch's cheek afforded such strong evidence of a sharp
renewal of his internal pains, that both noblemen hesitated to
obey. The damp of agony stood upon his forehead a moment
in large drops, then absolutely poured down his cheeks, while
his gaunt frame shook with the effort to suppress the groan
which his throes wrung from him. Seizing a cordial near him,
Buchan presented it on his knee, but Edward only waved them
both away, angrily and impatiently pointing to the door. He
loved not the weakness of an appalling disease to be witnessed
by his courtiers. When utterly incapacitated from either the
appearance or functions of the sovereign, he chose to be alone,
his pride scarcely brooking even the cares of his young and
beautiful wife, or the yet wiser and truer affection of his
daughters. The effects of this interview will be seen in a
future chapter.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 289

CHAPTER XXIII.

THERE -was an expression of both sorrow and care on the fine
and winning features of the Princess Joan, Countess of Glou-
cester, as she sat busied in embroidery in an apartment of Car-
lisle Castle, often pausing to rest her head upon her hand, and
glance out of the broad casement near which she sat, not in ad-
miration of the placid scene which stretched beyond, but in
the mere forgetfulness of uneasy thought. Long the favorite
daughter of King Edward, perchance because her character
more resembled that of her mother, Queen Eleanor, than did
either of her sisters, she had till lately possessed unbounded in-
fluence over bun. Not only his affection but his pride was
gratified in her, for he saw much of his own wisdom, penetra-
tion, and high sense of honor reflected upon her, far more for-
cibly than in his weak and yielding son. But lately, the change
which had so painfully darkened the character and actions of
her father had extended even to her. Her affection for a long
time blinded her to this painful truth, but by slow degrees it
became too evident to be mistaken, and she had wept many
bitter tears, less perhaps for herself than for her father, whom
she had almost idolized. His knightly qualities, his wisdom,
the good he had done his country, all were treasured up by her
and rejoiced in with never-failing delight. His reputation, his
popularity, were dear to her, even as her noble husband's. She
had not only loved, she had reverenced him as some superior
being who had come but to do good, to leave behind him
through succeeding ages an untarnished name, enshrined in
such love, England would be long ere she spoke it without
tears. And now, alas ! she had outlived such dreams ; her
reverence, lingering still, had been impaired by deeds of blood ;
her pride in him crushed ; naught but a daughter's love remain-
ing, which did but more strongly impress upon her heart the
fatal change. And now the last blow was given ; he shunned
her, scarcely ever summoned her to his presence, permitted the
wife of a day to tend him in his sufferings, rather than the
daughter of his former love, one hallowed by the memories of
her mother, the beloved and faithful partner of his youth.

It was not, however, these thoughts which entirely engrossed
13

290 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

her now not undivided sorrows. Her sister Elizabeth, the
Countess of Hereford, had just left her, plunged in the deepest
distress, from the extraordinary fact that her husband, sum-
moned seemingly in all amity by the king, had been arrested
by the Lord Marshal of England as an aider and abettor of
treason, and was now in strict confinement within the castle ;
not permitted to embrace his wife and children, whom he had
not seen since his arrival from Scotland, where he had so gal-
lantly assisted the cause of Edward, and whence he had but
just returned in triumph. No other cause was assigned saving
having given countenance to treason and l£ze majestt, but that
the irritation of the king had prohibited all hope of present
pardon ; — she, Lady Hereford, though his own daughter,
having been refused admission to his presence. Both the Earl
and Countess of Gloucester had anxiously striven to comfort
the anxious wife, conquering their own fears to assure her that
hers were groundless ; that though from some mysterious cause
at present irritated, as they knew too well a trifle made him
now, Hereford was too good and loyal a subject for the king to
proceed to extremities, whatever might have been his fault.
Rumors of the confusion at Berwick had indeed reached Car-
lisle, and it was to have them confirmed or denied, or connected
with some appearance of veracity, the Earl of Gloucester had
quitted the royal sisters, determining to use his influence with
his sovereign, even to dare his wrath, for the release of Here-
ford, whose good services in Scotland deserved a somewhat
different recompense. Lady Hereford, too anxious and dispir-
ited to remain long in one place, soon departed to seek the
youthful Margaret of France, her father's beautiful wife, and
beseech her influence with him, either for the pardon of her
husband, or at least communication with him.

It was these sad thoughts which engrossed the Princess
Joan, and they lingered too on Hereford's prisoner, the brave
and noble Nigel, for both to her husband and herself he had
been in his boyhood an object not only of interest but of love.
His beauty, his extraordinary talents, had irresistibly attracted
them ; and yet scarcely could they now believe the youthful
knight, with whose extraordinary valor not only Scotland but
England rung, could be that same enthusiast boy. That he
had been taken, was now a prisoner in Berwick Castle, on
whom sentence of death sooner or later would be passed,

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 291

brought conviction but too sadly to their hearts, and made
them feel yet more bitterly their influence with Edward was
of no account.

" Hast thou succeeded, Gilbert ? Oh, say that poor Eliza-
beth may at least be permitted access to her husband," was the
countess's eager salutation to her husband, as he silently ap-
proached her. He shook his head sorrowfully.

" Alas ! not even this. Edward is inexorable, possessed by
I know not what spirit of opposition and wrath, furiously an-
gered against Hereford, to the utter forgetfulness of all his
gallant deeds in Scotland."

" But wherefore ? What can have chanced in this brief
period to occasion this ? but a few days since he spoke of
Hereford as most loyal and deserving."

" Aye, that was on the news of Kildrummie's surrender ;
now forgotten, from anger at a deed which but a few years
back he would have been the first to have admired. That rash
madman, Nigel Bruce, hath not only trebly sealed his own fate,
but hurled down this mishap on his captor," and briefly he nar-
rated all he had learned.

" It was, indeed, a rash action, Gilbert ; yet was it altogether
unnatural ? Alas, no ! the boy had had no spark of chivalry
or patriotism about him, had he stood tamely by ; and Glou-
cester," she added, with bitter tears, " years back would my
father have given cause for this — would he thus have treated
an unhappy woman, thus have added insult to misery, for an
act which, shown to other than his rival, he would have hon-
ored, aye, not alone the deed, but the doer of it ? If we, his
own children, feel shamed and indignant at this cruelty, oh,
what must be the feelings of her countrymen, her friends ?"

" Then thou believest not the foul slander attached to the
Countess of Buchan, my Joan ?"

" Believe it !" she answered, indignantly ; " who that has
looked on that noble woman's face can give it the smallest cre-
dence ? No, Gilbert, no. 'Tis published by those base spirits
so utterly incapable of honor, knighthood, and patriotism them-
selves, that they cannot conceive these qualities in others, par-
ticularly in a female breast, and therefore assign it to motives
black as the hearts which thought them ; and even if it were
true, is a kingly conqueror inflicting justice for treason against

292 THE DATS OF BEUCE.

himself, to assign other motives for that justice ? Doth he not
lower himself — his own cause ?"

" Alas, yes !" replied her husband, sorrowfully ; " he hath
done his character more injury by this last act than any which
preceded. Though men might wish less blood were shed, yet
still, traitors taken in arms against his person justice must con-
demn ; but a woman, a sad and grieving woman — but do not
weep thus, my gentle wife," he added, tenderly.

" Can a daughter of Edward do other than weep, my hus-
band ? Oh, if I loved him not, if my very spirit did not cling
round him so closely that the fibres of both seem entwined, and
his deeds of wrath, of exacting justice, fall on me as if I had
done them, and overwhelm me with their shame, their remorse,
then indeed I might not weep ; but as it is, do not chide me,
Gilbert, for weep I must."

" Thou art too noble-hearted, Joan," he said, kindly, as he
circled her waist with his arm, " only too noble-hearted for
these fearful times. 'Tis but too sad a proof of the change in
thy royal father, that he shuns thy presence now even as he
once loved it."

A confusion in the passage and ante-room disturbed their
converse, and Gloucester turned towards the door to inquire
the cause.

" 'Tis but a troublesome boy, demanding access to her high-
ness the countess, my lord," was the reply. " I have asked
his name and business, questions he deigns not, forsooth, to
answer, and looks so wild and distracted, that I scarce think it
accords with my duty to afford him admittance. He is no fit
recipient of my lady's bounty, good my lord ; trust me, he will
but fright her."

" I have no such fear, my good Baldwin," said the princess,
as, on hearing her name, she came forward to the centre of the
chamber ; " thou knowest my presence is granted to all who
seek it, an this poor child seems so wild, he is the fitter object
of my care. They are using violence methinks ; give him en-
trance instantly."

The attendant departed, and returned in a very brief space,
followed by a lad, whose torn and muddy garments, haggard
features, and dishevelled hair indeed verified the description
given. He glanced wildly round him a moment, and then
flinging himself at the feet of the princess, clasped her robe

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 293

and struggled to say something, of which the words " mercy,
protection," were alone audible.

" Mercy, my poor child ! what mercy dost thou crave ? Pro-
tection I may give thee, but how may I show thee mercy ?"

" Grant me but a few moments, lady, let me but speak with
thee alone. I bear a message which I may not deliver to other
ears save thine," said or rather gasped the boy, for he breathed
with difficulty, either from exhaustion or emotion.

" Alone !" replied the countess, somewhat surprised. "Leave
us, Baldwin," she added, after a moment's pause. " I am pri-
vately engaged for the next hour, denied to all, save his grace
the king." He withdrew, with a respectful bow. " And now,
speak, poor child, what wouldst thou ? Nay, I hear nothing
which my husband may not hear," she said, as the eyes of her
visitor gazed fearfully on the earl, who was looking at him with
surprise.

" Thy husband, lady — the Earl of Gloucester ? oh, it was to
him too I came ; the brother-in-arms of my sovereign, one that
showed kindness to — to Sir Nigel in his youth, ye will not, ye
will not forsake him now ?"

Few and well-nigh inarticulate as were those broken words,
they betrayed much which at once excited interest in both the
earl and countess, and told the reason of the lad's earnest en-
treaty to see them alone.

" Forsake him !" exclaimed the earl, after carefully examin-
ing that the door was closed ; " would to heaven I could serve
him, free him ! that there was but one slender link to lay hold
of, to prove him innocent and give him life, I would do it, did
it put my own head in jeopardy."

" And is there none, none ?" burst wildly from the boy's
lips, as he sprung from his knees, and grasped convulsively the
earl's arm. " Oh, what has he done that they should slay
him ? why do they call him guilty ? He was not Edward's
subject, he owed him no homage, no service, he has but fought
to free his country, and is there guilt in this ? oh, no, no, save
him, in mercy save him !"

" Thou knowest not what thou askest, boy, how wholly,
utterly impossible it is to save him. He hath hurled down
increase of anger on his own head by his daring insult of King
Edward's herald ; had there been hope before there is none
now."

294 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

A piercing cry escaped the boy, and he would have fallen,
had he not been supported by the countess ; he looked at her
pitying face, and again threw himself at her feet.

" Canst thou not, wilt thou not save him ?" he cried ; " art
thou not the daughter of Edward, his favorite, his dearly be-
loved, and will he not list to thee — will he not hear thy plead-
ings ? Oh, seek him, kneel to him as I to thee, implore his
mercy — life, life, only the gift of life ; sentence him to exile,
perpetual exile, what he will, only let him live : he is too young,
too good, too beautiful to die. Oh ! do not look as if this could
not be. He has told me how you both loved him, not that I
should seek ye. It is not at his request I come ; no, no, no,
he spurns life, if it be granted on conditions. But they have
torn me from him, they have borne him to the lowest dungeon,
they have loaded him with fetters, put him to the torture. I
would have clung to him still, but they spurned me, trampled
on me, cast me forth — to die, if I may not save him ! Wilt
thou not have mercy, princess ? daughter of Edward, oh, save
him, save him !"

It is impossible in the above incoherent words to convey to
the reader even a faint idea of the agonized wildness with which
they were spoken ; the impression of unutterable misery they
gave to those who listened to them, and marked their reflection
in the face of the speaker.

" Fetters — the lowest dungeon — torture," repeated Glou-
cester, pacing up and down with disordered steps. " Can these
things be ? merciful heaven, how low hath England fallen !
Boy, boy, can it be thou speakest truth ?"

" As there is a God above, it is truth !" he answered, pas-
sionately. " Oh, canst thou not save him from this ? is there
no justice, no mercy ? Rise — no, no ; wherefore should I
rise ?" he continued, clinging convulsively to the knees of the
princess, as she soothingly sought to raise him. " I will kneel
here till thou hast promised to plead for him with thy royal
father, promised to use thine influence for his life. Oh, canst
thou once have loved him and yet hesitate for this ?"

" I do not, I would not hesitate, unhappy boy," replied the
princess, tenderly. " God in heaven knows, were there the
slenderest chance of saving him, I would kneel at my father's
feet till pardon was obtained, but angered as he is now it
would irritate him yet more. Alas ! alas ! poor child, they

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 295

told thee wrong who bade thee come to Joan for influence
with Edward ; I have none now, less than any of his court,"
and the large tears fell from the eyes of the princess on the
boy's upturned face.

" Then let me plead for him ; give me access to Edward.
Oh, I will so beseech, conjure him, he cannot, he will not say
me nay. Oh, if his heart be not of steel, he will have mercy on
our wretchedness; he will pardon, he will spare my husband !"

The sob with which that last word was spoken shook that
slight frame, till it bowed to the very ground, and the support-
ing arm of the countess alone preserved her from falling.

" Thy husband ! — Gracious heaven ! who and what art thou ?"
exclaimed the earl, springing towards her, at the same instant
that his wife raised her in her arms, and laid her on a couch
beside them, watching with the soothing tenderness of a sister,
till voice and strength returned.

" Alas ! I feared there was more in this deep agony than we
might see," she said ; " but I imagined not, dared not imagine
aught like this. Poor unhappy sufferer, the saints be praised
thou hast come to me ! thy husband's life I may not save, but
I can give protection, tenderness to thee — aye weep, weep,
there is life, reason in those tears."

The gentle voice of sympathy, of kindness, had come upon
that overcharged heart, and broke the icy agony which had
closed it to the relief of tears. Mind and frame were utterly
exhausted, and Agnes buried her face in the hands of the prin-
cess, which she had clasped convulsively within both hers, and
wept, till the wildness of agony indeed departed, but not the
horrible consciousness of the anguish yet to come. Gradually
her whole tale was imparted : from the resolution to follow her
betrothed even to England, and cling to him to the last ; the fatal
conclusion of that rite which had made them one ; the anxiety
and suffering which had marked the days spent in effecting a
complete disguise, ere she could venture near him and obtain
Hereford's consent to her attending him as a page; the risks
and hardships which had attended their journey to Berwick,
till even a prison seemed a relief and rest ; and then the sud-
den change, that a few days previous, the Earl of Berwick had
entered Sir Nigel's prison, at the head of five or ten ruffians,
had loaded him with fetters, conveyed him to the lowest and
filthiest dungeon, and there had administered the torture, she

296 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

knew not wherefore. Her shriek of agony had betrayed tha,
she had followed them, and she was rudely and forcibly dragged
from him, and thrust from the fortress. Her brain had reeled,
her senses a brief while forsaken her, and when she recovered,
her only distinct thought was to find her way to Carlisle, and
there obtain access to the Earl and Countess of Gloucester, of
whom her husband had spoken much during their journey to
England, not with any wish or hope of obtaining mercy through
their influence, but simply as the friends of former years ; he
had spoken of them to while away the tedious hours of their
journey, and besought her, if she should be parted from him
on their arrival at Berwick, to seek them, and implore their
protection till her strength was restored. Of herself, however,
in thus seeking them, she had thought not ; the only idea, the
only thought clearly connected in her mind was to beseech
their influence with Edward in obtaining her husband's pardon.
Misery and anxiety, in a hundred unlooked-for shapes, had
already shown the fallacy of those dreams which in the hour
of peril had strengthened her, and caused her to' fancy that
when once his wife she not only might abide by him, but that
she might in some manner obtain his liberation. She did not,
indeed, lament her fate was joined to his — lament ! she could
not picture herself other than she was, by her husband's side,
but she felt, how bitterly felt, she had no power to avert his
fate. Despair was upon her, cold, black, clinging despair, and
she clung to the vain dream of imploring Edward's mercy, feel-
ing at the same moment it was but the ignis fatui to her heart —
urging, lighting, impelling her on, but to sink in pitchy dark-
ness when approached.

Gradually and painfully this narrative of anguish was drawn
from her lips, often unconnectedly, often incoherently, but the
earl and countess heard enough to fill their hearts alike with
pity and respect for the deep, unselfish love unconsciously re-
vealed. She had told, too, her maiden name, had conjured
them to conceal her from the power of her father, at whose
veiy name she shuddered ; and both those noble hearts shared
her anxiety, sympathized in her anguish ; and speedily she felt,
if there could be comfort in such deep wretchedness, she had
told her tale to those ready and willing, and able to bestow it.

The following day the barons sat in judgment on Sir Nigel
Bruce, and Gloucester was obliged to join them. It was use-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 297

less, both he and the princess felt, to implore the king's mercy
till sentence was passed ; alas ! it was useless at any time, but
it must have been a colder and harder heart than the Princess
Joan's to look upon the face of Agnes, and yet determine on not
even making one effort in his favor. At first the unhappy girl
besought the earl to permit her accompanying him back to Ber-
wick, to attend her husband on his trial ; but on his proving it
would but be uselessly harrowing the feelings of both, for it
would not enable her to go back with him to prison, that it
would be better for her to remain under the protection of the
countess, endeavoring to regain strength for whatever she
might have to encounter, either to accompany him to exile, if
grace were indeed granted, or to return to her friends in Scot-
land, she yielded mournfully, deriving some faint degree of
comfort in the earl's assurance that she should rejoin her hus-
band as soon as possible, and the countess's promise that if she
wished it, she should herself be witness of her interview with
Edward. It was indeed poor comfort, but her mind was well-
nigh wearied out with sorrow, as if incapable of bearing more,
and she acquiesced from very exhaustion.

The desire that she herself should conjure the mercy of
Edward had been negatived even to her anxious heart by the
assurance of both the earl and the princess, that instead of do-
ing good to her husband's cause she would but sign her own
doom, perchance be consigned to the power of her father, and
be compelled to relinquish the poor consolation of being with
her husband to the last. It was better she should retain the
disguise she had assumed, adopting merely in addition the
dress of one of the princess's own pages, a measure which
would save her from all observation in the palace, and give her
admittance to Sir Nigel, perchance, when as his own attendant
it would be denied. ,.

The idea of rejoining her husband would have reconciled
Agnes to any thing that might have been proposed, and kneel-
ing at the feet of her protectress, she struggled to speak her
wUlingness and blessing on her goodness, but her tongue was
parched, her lips were mute, and the princess turned away, for
her gentle spirit could not read unmoved the silent thankfulness
of that young and breaking heart.

13*

298 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

CHAPTER XXIV.

IT would be useless to linger on the trial of Nigel Bruce, in
itself a mockery of justice, as were all those which had pro-
ceeded, and all that followed it. The native nobility of Scot-
land were no subjects of the King of England ; they owed him
homage, perchance, for lands held in England, but on flocking
to the standard of the Bruce these had at once been voluntarily
forfeited, and they fought but as Scottish men determined to
throw off the yoke of a tyrant whose arms had overrun a land
to which he had no claim. They fought for the freedom of a
country, for their own liberty, and therefore were no traitors ;
but these facts availed not with the ruthless sovereign, to whom
opposition was treason. The mockery of justice proceeded, it
gave a deeper impression, a graver solemnity to their execution,
and therefore for not one of his prisoners was the ceremony dis-
pensed with. Sir Christopher Seaton had been conveyed to
the Tower, with his wife, under pretence of there waiting till
his wounds were cured, to abide his trial, and in that awful
hour Sir Nigel stood alone. Yet he was undaunted, for he
feared not death even at the hangman's hand ; his spirit was at
peace, for he was innocent of sin ; unbowed, for he was no
traitor — he was a patriot warrior still. Pale he was, indeed,
ashy pale, but it told a tale of intense bodily anguish. They
had put him to the torture, to force from his lips the place of
his brother's retreat, that being the only pretence on which the
rage of Edward and the malice of Berwick could rest for the
infliction of their cruelty. They could drag naught from his
lips ; they could not crush that exalted soul, or compel it to
utter more than a faint, scarcely articulate groan, as proof that
he suffered, that the beautiful frame was well-nigh shattered
unto death. And now he stood upright, unshrinking; and
there were hearts amid those peers inwardly grieving at their
fell task, gazing on him with unfeigned admiration ; Avhile others
gloried that another obstacle to their sovereign's schemes of
ambition would be removed, finding, perchance, in his youth,
beauty, and noble bearing, from their contrast with themselves,
but fresh incentives to the doom of death, and determining,
even as they sate and scowled on him, to aggravate the bitter-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

ness of that doom with all the ignominy that cruelty could
devise.

He had listened in stern silence to the indictment, and evin-
ced no sign of emotion even when, in the virulence of some
Avitnesses against him, the most degrading epithets were lav-
ished on himself, his family, and friends. Only once had his
eye flashed fire and his cheek burned, and his right hand un-
consciously sought where his weapon should have hung, when
1m noble brother was termed a ribald assassin, an excommuni-
cated murderer ; but quickly he checked that natural emotion,
and remained collected as before. He was silent till the usual
question was asked, " If he had any thing to say why sentence
of death should not be pronounced upon him ?" and then he
made a step forward, looked boldly and sternly around him,
and spoke, in a rich, musical voice, the following brief, though
emphatic words :

" Ye ask me if I could say aught why sentence of death
should not be pronounced. Nobles of England, in denying the
charge of treason with which ye have indicted me, I have said
enough. Before ye, aye, before your sovereign, I have done
nothing to merit death, save that death which a conqueror be-
stows on his captive, when he deems him too powerful to live.
The death of a traitor I protest against ; for to the King of
England I am no subject, and in consequence no traitor ! I
have but done that which every true and honorable man must
justify, and in justifying respect. I have sought with my whole
heart the liberty of my country, the interest of my lawful sov-
ereign, and will die asserting the honor and justice of my cause,
even as I have lived. I plead not for mercy, for were it offered,
on condition of doing homage unto Edward, I would refuse it,
and choose death ; protesting to the last that Robert Bruce,
and he alone, is rightful king of Scotland. My lords, in con-
demning me to death as a captive taken in war, ye may be
justified by the law of battles, I dispute not the justice of your
doom ; but an ye sentence me as traitor, I do deny the charge,
and say my condemnation is unjust and foul, and ye are per-
jured in its utterance. I have said. Now let your work
proceed."

He folded his arms on his breast, and awaited in unbroken
silence his doom. A brief pause had followed his words.
The Earl of Gloucester, who, from his rank and near connection

300 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

with the king, occupied one of the seats of honor at the upper
end of the large hall, and had, during the trial, vainly sought
to catch the prisoner's eye, now reclined back on his seat, his
brow resting on his hand, his features completely concealed by
the dark drapery of his cloak. In that position he remained,
not only during the pause, but while the fatal sentence was
pronounced.

" By the laws of your country, and the sentence of your
peers," so it ran, " you, Nigel Bruce, by manifold acts of re-
bellion, disaffection, and raising up arms against your lawful
king, Edward, the sovereign of England and Scotland, and all
the realms, castles, and lordships thereto pertaining, are proved
guilty of high treason and Use majeste, and are thereby con-
demned to be divested of all symbols of nobility and knight-
hood, which you have disgraced ; to be dragged on a hurdle
to the common gibbet, and there hung by the neck till you are
dead ; your head to be cut off ; your body quartered and ex-
posed at the principal towns as a warning to the disaffected
and the traitorous of all ranks in either nation, and this is to be
done at whatsoever time the good pleasure of our sovereign
lord the king may please to appoint. God save King Edward,
and so perish all his foes !"

Not a muscle of the prisoner's face had moved during the
utterance of this awful sentence. He had glanced fearlessly
around him to the last, his eye resting on the figure of the Earl
of Gloucester with an expression of pitying commiseration for
a moment, as if he felt for him, for his deep regret in his coun-
try's shame, infinitely more than for himself. Proudly erect he
held himself, as they led him in solemn pomp from the great
hall of the castle, across the court to the dungeons of the con-
demned, gazing calmly and unflinchingly on the axe, which
carried with its edge towards him proclaimed him condemned,
though his doom was more ignominious than the axe bestowed.
There was a time when he had shrunk from the anticipated
agony of a degradation so complete as this — but not now ; his
spirit was already lifted up above the honors and humiliations
of earth. But one dream of this world remained — one sad,
sweet dream clung to his heart, and bound it with silver chains
below. Where was that gentle being ? He fondly hoped she
had sought the friends of his boyhood, as he had implored her,
should they be parted ; he strove to realize comfort in the

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 301

thought they would protect and save her the agony of a final
parting ; but he strove in vain. One wild yearning possessed
him, to gaze upon her face, to fold her to his heart once, but once
again : it was the last lingering remnant of mortality ; he had
not another thought of life but this, and this grew stronger as
its hope seemed vain. But there was one near to give him
comfort, when he expected it not.

Wrapped so closely in his dark, shrouding mantle that naught
but the drooping feather of his cap could be distinguished, the
Earl of Gloucester drew near the prisoner, and as he paused,
ere the gates and bars of the prison entrance could be drawn
back, whispered hurriedly yet emphatically —

" A loved one is safe and shall be so. Would to God I
could do more !"

Suppressing with extreme difficulty a start of relief and
surprise, the young nobleman glanced once on Gloucester's face,
pressed his hands together, and answered, in the same tone —

" God in heaven bless thee ! I would see her once, only once
more, if it can be without danger to her ; it is life's last link,
I cannot snap it — parted thus." They hurried him through
the entrance with the last word lingering on his lips, and before
Gloucester could make even a sign of reply.

Early in the evening of the same day, King Edward was
reclining on his couch, in the chamber we have before described,
and, surrounded by some few of his favorite noblemen, ap-
peared so animated by a new cause of excitement as to be
almost unconscious of the internal pains which even at that
moment were more than usually intense. His courtiers looked
on unconcernedly while, literally shaking with disease and weak-
ness, he coolly and deliberately traced those letters which gave
a base and ignominious death to one of the best, the noblest,
loveliest spirits that ever walked the earth, and signed the doom
of misery and madness to another ; and yet no avenging hand
stretched forth between him and his victim, no pang was on his
heart to bid him pause, be merciful, and spare. Oh, what
would this earth be were it all in all, and what were life if end-
ing in the grave ? Faith, thou art the crystal key opening to
the spirit the glorious vision of immortality, bidding the trust-
ing heart, when sick and weary of the dark deeds and ruthless
spoilers of this lovely earth, rest on thy downy wings, and seek
for peace and comfort there.

302 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

" Who waits ?" demanded the king, as his pen ceased in its
task.

" Sir Stephen Fitzjohn, my liege, sent by the Earl of Ber-
wick with the warrant, for which he waits."

" He need wait no longer then, for it is there. Two hours
before noon the traitor dies ; we give him grace till then, that
our good subjects of Berwick may take warning by his fate,
and our bird in the cage witness the end of the gallant so
devoted to her cause. Bid the knight begone, my Lord of
Arundel ; he hath too long waited our pleasure. Ha ! whom
have we here ? who craves admittance thus loudly ?" he added,
observing, as the earl lifted the hangings to depart, some bustle
in the ante-room. " Who is it so boldly demanding speech
with us ?"

" Her Highness the Princess Joan, Countess of Gloucester,
please you, my liege," replied the chamberlain ; " she will not
take denial."

" Is it so hard a thing for a daughter to gain admittance to
a father, even though he be a sovereign ?" interrupted the
princess, who, attended only by a single page bearing her train,
advanced within the chamber, her firm and graceful deport-
ment causing the lords to fall back on either side, and give her
passage, though the expression of their monarch's countenance
denoted the visit was unwelcome.

" Humbly and earnestly I do beseech your grace's pardon
for this over-bold intrusion," she said, bending one knee before
him ; " but indeed my business could not be delayed. My
liege and father, grant me but a few brief minutes. Oh, for
the sake of one that loved us both, the sainted one now gone
to heaven, for the memory of whom thou didst once bless me
with fonder love than thou gavest to my sisters, because my
features bore her stamp, my king, my father, pardon me and
let me speak !"

" Speak on," muttered the king, passing his hand over his
features, and turning slightly from her, if there were emotion,
to conceal it. " Thou hast, in truth, been over-bold, yet as
thou art here, speak on. What wouldst thou ?"

" A boon, a mighty boon, most gracious father ; one only
thou canst grant, one that in former years thou wouldst have
loved me for the asking, and blessed me by fulfilment," she
said, as she continued to kneel ; and by her beseeching voice

THE DATS OF BKUCE. 303

and visible emotion effectually confining the attention of the
courtiers, now assembled in a knot at the farther end of the
apartment, and preventing their noticing the deportment of
the page who had accompanied her ; he was leaning against a
marble pillar which supported the canopy raised over the king's
couch, his head bent on his breast, the short, thick curls which
fell over his forehead concealing his features ; his hands, too,
crossed on his breast, convulsively clenched the sleeves of his
doublet, as if to restrain the trembling which, had any one
been sufficiently near, or even imagined him worthy of a distant
glance, must have been observable pervading his whole frame.

" A boon," repeated the king, as the princess paused, almost
breathless with her own emotion ; " a mighty boon ! What
can the Countess of Gloucester have to ask of me, that it
moves her thus ? Are we grown so terrible that even our own
children tremble ere they speak ? What is this mighty boon ?
we grant not without hearing."

" Tis the boon of life, my liege, of life thou canst bestow.
Oh, while in this world thou rulest, vicegerent of the King of
kings on high, combining like Him justice and mercy, in the
government of his creatures, oh ! like, Him, let mercy predomi-
nate over justice ; deprive not of life, in the bloom, the loveli-
ness of youth ! Be merciful, my father, oh, be merciful ! for-
give as thou wouldst be forgiven — grant me the life I crave !"

Urged on by emotion, the princess had scarcly heard the
suppressed interjection of the king which her first words had
occasioned, and she scarcely saw the withering sternness which
gathered on his brow.

" Thou hast in truth learnt oratory, most sapient daughter,"
he said, bitterly ; " thou pleadest well and flowingly, yet thou
hast said not for whom thou bearest this marvellous interest —
it can scarce be for a traitor? Methinks the enemies of
Edward should be even such unto his children."

" Yet 'tis for one of these mistaken men I plead, most gra-
cious sovereign," resumed Joan, intimidated not by his sarcasm.
" Oh, my father, the conqueror's triumph consists not in the
number of rebellious heads that fall before him — not in the
blood that overflows his way ; magnanimity, mercy, will con-
quer yet more than his victorious sword. Traitor as he seem,
have mercy on Nigel Bruce ; oh, give — "

" Mercy on a Bruce ! May the thunder of heaven blast me

304: THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

when I show it !" burst furiously from Edward's lips, as he
started upon his couch and gazed on his suppliant child with
eyes that seemed absolutely to blaze in wrath. " Mercy on a
branch of that house which has dared defy me, dared to insult
my power, trample on my authority, upraised the standard of
rebellion, and cost me the lives of thousands of my faithful
subjects ! Mercy on him, the daring traitor, who, even in his
chains, has flung redoubled insult and treason into our very
teeth ! Mercy — may the God of heaven deny me all mercy
when I show it unto him !"

" Oh, no, no, my father ! My father, in mercy speak not
such terrible words !" implored the princess, clinging to his
robe. " Call not the wrath of heaven on thy head ; think of
his youth, the temptations that have beset him, the difficult
task to remain faithful when all other of his house turned astray.
Mistaken as he hath been, as he is, have mercy. Compel him
to prove, to feel, to acknowledge thou art not the tyrant he hatli
been taught to deem thee ; exile, imprisonment, all — any thing,
but death. Oh, do not turn from me ; be thyself, the good, the
magnanimous Edward of former days, have mercy on thy foe !"

" I tell thee, never ! by every saint in heaven, I tell thee,
never !" shouted the king. " I will hear no more ; begone, lest
I deem my own child part and parcel of the treasons formed
against me. Trouble me not with these vain prayers. I will
not pardon, I have sworn it ; begone, and learn thy station
better than to plead for traitors. Thy husband braved me
once ; beware, lest in these pleadings I Jiear his voice again. I
tell him and thee that ere to morrow's noon be passed the soul
of Nigel Bruce shall stand in judgment ; not another day, not
another hour he lives to blast me with the memory of his trea-
son. The warrant hath been signed, and is on its way to Ber-
wick, to give his body to the hangman and his soul to Satan —
his death is sealed."

" Oh, no, no, no !" shrieked a voice of sudden anguish, start-
ling all who heard, and even Edward, by its piteous tones, and
the form of a page suddenly fell prostrate before the monarch.
" Mercy, mercy ! for the love of God, have mercy !" he strug-
gled to articulate, but there was no sound save a long and
piercing shriek, and the boy lay senseless on the ground.

" Ha ! by St. George, beardest thou me with traitors in my
very palace, before my very eyes ?" exclaimed the angry mon-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 305

arch, as his astonished courtiers gathered round. "Put him
in ward ; away with him, I say !"

" Pardon me, your highness, but this is needless," interposed
the princess, with a calm majesty, that subdued even the irri-
tation of her father, and undauntedly waving back the cour-
tiers, although perfectly sensible of the imminent danger in
which she was placed. " If there be blame, let it be visited on
me ; this poor child has been ill and weakly from many causes,
terrified, almost maddened, by sounds, and sights of blood. I
deemed him perfectly recovered, or he had not attended me
here. I pray your grace permit his removal to my apartments."

The king laid a heavy hand on his daughter's arm as she
stood beside him, and fixed a gaze on her face that would have
terrified any less noble spirit into a betrayal of the truth ; but
firm in her own integrity, in her own generous purpose, she
calmly and inquiringly returned his gaze.

" Go to, thou art a noble wench, though an over-bold and
presuming one," he said, in a much mollified tone, for there
was that in the dauntless behavior of his daughter which found
an echo in his heart even now, deadened as it was to aught of
gentle feeling, and he was glad of this interruption to entrea-
ties which, resolved not to grant, had lashed him into fury,
while her presence made him feel strangely ashamed. " Do as
thou wilt with thine own attendants ; but be advised, tempt not
thine own safety again ; thou hast tried us sore with thy ill-ad-
vised entreaties, but we forgive thee, on condition they are
never again renewed. Speak not, we charge thee. What ho !
Sir Edmund Stanley," he called aloud, and the chamberlain
appeared at the summons. "Here, let this boy be carefully
raised and borne according to the pjeasure of his mistress.
See, too, that the Countess of Gloucester be conducted with
due respect to her apartments. Begone !" he added, sternly,
as the eyes of Joan still seemed to beseech mercy ; " I will hear
no more — the traitor dies !"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE shades of advancing night had already appeared to have
enwrapped the earth some hours, when Nigel Bruce was star-

306 THE DAYS OF BRUOE.

tied from an uneasy slumber by the creaking sounds of bolts
and bars announcing the entrance of some one within the dun-
geon. The name of his beloved, his devoted Agnes, trembled
on his lips, but fearful of betraying her to unfriendly ears, he
checked himself, and started up, exclaiming, " Who comes ?"
No answer was vouchsafed, but the dim light of a lamp, placed
by the intruder on the floor, disclosed a figure wrapped from
head to foot in the shrouding mantle of the time, not tall, but
appearing a stout muscular person, banishing on the instant
Nigel's scarcely-formed hope that it was the only one he longed
to see.

" What wouldst thou ?" he said, after a brief pause. " Doth
Edward practise midnight murder ? Speak, who art thou ?"

" Midnight murder, thou boasting fool ; I love thee not well
enough to cheat the hangman of his prey," replied a harsh and
grating voice, which, even without the removal of the cloak,
would have revealed to Nigel's astonished ears the Earl of
Buchan. " Ha ! I have startled thee — thou didst not know the
deadly enemy of thy accursed race !"

" I know thee now, my Lord of Buchan," replied the young
man, calmly ; " yet know I not wherefore thou art here, save
to triumph over the fallen fortunes of thy foe ; if so, scorn on
— I care not. A few brief hours, and all of earth and earthly
feeling is at rest."

" To triumph — scorn ! I had scarce travelled for petty
satisfaction such as that, when to-morrow sees thee in the
hangman's hands, the scorn of thousands ! Hath Buchan no
other work with thee, thinkest thou ? dost thou affirm thou
knowest naught for which he hath good cause to seek
thee ?"

" Earl of Buchan, I dare affirm it," answered Nigel, proudly ;
" I know of naught to call for words or tones as these, save,
perchance, that the love and deep respect in which I hold thine
injured countess, my friendship for thy murdered son, hath
widened yet more the breach between thy house and mine —
it may be so ; yet deem not, cruel as thou art, I will deny feel-
ings in which I glory, at thy bidding. An thou comest to re-
proach me with these things, rail on, they affect me as little as
thy scorn."

" Hadst thou said love for her they call my daughter, thou
hadst been nearer the mark," retorted the earl, fury rapidly

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 307

gaining possession of heart and voice ; " but thou art too wise,
too politic for that."

" Aye," retorted Nigel, after a fearful struggle with himself,
" aye, thou mayest well add love for Agnes of Buchan, as
well as friendship for her brother. Thinkest thou I would
deny it — hide it ? little dost thou know its thrilling, its inspir-
ing power ; little canst thou know how I glory in it, cherish,
linger on it still. But wherefore speak thus to thee, thou man
of wickedness and blood. I love thy pure and spotless child,
rejoice that thou didst so desert, so utterly neglect her, that
thou couldst no more leave a shadow on her innocent heart than
a cloud upon her way. I love her, glory in that love, and what
is it to thee ?"

" What is it to me ? that a child of the house of Comyn dare
hold commune with a Bruce ; that thou hast dared to love a
daughter of my house, aye, to retain her by thy. side a willing
mistress, when all others of her sex forsook thee — what is it to
me ? Did not to-morrow give thee to a traitor's doom, thy
blood should answer thee ; but as it is, villain and slave, give
her to me — where is her hiding-place ? speak, or the torture
shall wring it from thee."

" Thinkest thou such threats will in aught avail thee ?"
calmly replied Nigel. " Thou knowest not the Bruce. Agnes
is no longer a Comyn, no longer a subject to thy guardianship.
The voice of God, the rites at the altar's foot, have broken every
link, save that which binds her to her husband. She is mine,
before God and man is mine — mine own faithful and lawful
wife !"

" Thou liest, false villain !" furiously retorted Buchan. " The
church shall undo these bonds, shall give her back to the father
she has thus insulted. She shall repent, repent with tears of
blood, her desertion of her race. Canst thou protect her hi
death, thou fool — canst thou still cherish and save her, thinkest
thou, when the hangman hath done his work ?"

" Aye, even then she will be cherished, loved for Nigel's
sake, and for her own ; there will be faithful friends around her
to protect her from thee still, tyrant ! Thou canst not break
the bonds that bind us ; thou hast done no father's part. For-
saken and forgotten, thy children owe thee no duty, no obedi-
ence ; thou canst bring forward no plea to persecute thy child.
IP life and in death she is mine, mine alone ; the power and

308 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

authority thou hast spurned so long can no longer be assumed ;
the love, the obedience thou didst never heed, nay, trampled
on, hath been transferred to one who glories in them both.
She is in safety — slay, torture as thou wilt, I tell thee no more."
Fettered, unarmed, firm, undauntedly erect, stood Nigel Bruce,
gazing with curling lip and flashing eyes upon his foe. The
foam had gathered on the earl's lip, his hand, clenching his
sword, had trembled with passion as Nigel spoke. He sought
to suppress that rage, to remember a public execution would
revenge him infinitely more than a blow of his sword, but he
had been too long unused to control ; lashed into ungovernable
fury by the demeanor of Nigel, even more than by his words,
the sword flashed from its scabbard, was raised, and fell — but
not iipon his foe, for the Earl of Gloucester suddenly stood
between them,

" Art thou tnad, or tired of life, my Lord of Buchan ?" he
said. " Knowest thou not thou art amenable to the law, an thou
thus deprivest justice of her victim ? Shame, shame, my lord ;
I deemed thee not a midnight murderer."

" Barest thou so speak to me ?" replied Buchan, fiercely ;
" by every fiend in hell, thou shalt answer this ! Begone, and
meddle not with that which concerneth thee nothing."

" It doth concern me, proud earl," replied Gloucester, stand-
ing immediately before Nigel, whose emotion at observing the
page by whom he was accompanied, though momentary, must
otherwise have been observed. " The person of the prisoner is
sacred to the laws of his country, the mandate of his sovereign ;
on thy life thou darest not injure him — thou knowest that thou
darest not. Do thou begone, ere I summon those who, at the
mere mention of assault on one condemned, will keep thee hi
ward till thou canst wreak thy vengeance on naught but clay ;
begone, I say !"

"I will not," sullenly answered the earl, unwillingly con-
scious of the truth of his words ; " I will not, till he hath an-
swered me. Once more," he added, turning to Nigel with a
demoniac scowl, " where is she whom thou hast dared to call
thy wife ? answer me, or as there is a hell beneath us, the tor-
ture shall wring it from thee !"

" In safety, where thine arm shall never reach her," haughtily
answered the young nobleman. " Torture ! what wilt thou
torture — the senseless clay ? Hence — I defy thee ! Death will

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 309

protect me from thy lawless power ; death will set his seal
upon me ere we meet again."

The earl muttered a deep and terrible oath, and then he
strode away, coming in such violent contact against the slight
and almost paralyzed form of Gloucester's page as he stood in
the doorway, as nearly to throw him to the ground. Nigel
sprung forward, but was held back with a grasp of iron by the
Earl of Gloucester, nor did he relinquish his hold till Buchan
had passed through the doorway, till the heavy hinges had
firmly closed again, and the step of the departing earl had en-
tirely faded in distance.

" Now, then, we are safe," he said ; " thank heaven !" but
his words were scarcely heard, for the page had bounded within
the extended arms of Nigel, had clung so closely to his heart,
he could feel nothing, see nothing, save that slender form ;
could hear nothing but those deep, agonized sobs, which are
so terrible when unaccompanied by the relief of tears. For
a while Nigel could not speak — he could not utter aught of
comfort, for he felt it not ; that moment was the bitterness of
death.

" Torture ! did he not speak of torture ? will he not come
again?" were the words that at length fell, shudderingly, from
the lips of Agnes. " Nigel, Nigel, if it must be, give me up ;
he cannot inflict aught more of misery now."

" Fear not, lady ; he dare not," hastily rejoined Gloucester.
" The torture dare not be administered without consent of Ed-
ward, and that now cannot be obtained ; he will not have suffi-
cient— " time, he was going to say, but checked himself ; for
the agonized look of Agnes told him his meaning was more
than sufficiently understood. " Nigel," he added, laying his
hand on the young man's shoulder, " Nigel, my noble, gallant
friend — for so I will call thee, though I sat in judgment on
thee, aye, and tacitly acquiesced in thy sentence— shrink not,
oh, shrink not now ! I saw not a quiver on thy lip, a pallor on
thy cheek, nay, nor faltering in thy step, when they read a
doom at which I have marked the bravest blench ; oh, let not
that noble spirit fail thee now !"

" Gloucester, it shall not !" he said, with suddenly-regained
firmness, as supporting Agnes with his right arm he convul-
sively wrung the hand of his friend with the other. " It was
but the sight of this beloved one, the thought — no matter, it is

310 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

over. Agnes, my beloved, my own, oh, look on me ! speak,
tell me all that hath befallen thee since they tore thee from me,
and filled my soul with darker dread for thee than for myself.
To see thee with this noble earl is enough to know how heavy
a burden of gratitude I owe him, which thou, sweetest, must
discharge. Yet speak to me, beloved ; tell me all, all."

Emulating his calmnesg, remembering even at that moment
her promise not to unman him in the moment of trial by vain
repinings, Agnes complied with his request. Her tale was fre-
quently interrupted by those terrible sobs, which seemed to
threaten annihilation ; but Nigel could gather from it so much
of tenderness and care on the part of the princess, that the
deepest gratitude filled his heart, and spoke in his impassioned
words.

" Tell her, oh, tell her, if the prayers of the dying can in
aught avail her, the blessedness of heaven shall be hers even
upon earth !" he exclaimed, gazing up in the earl's face with
eyes that spoke his soul. " Oh, I knew her not, when in
former years I did but return her kindness with silence and re-
serve ; I saw in her little more than the daughter of Edward.
Tell her, on my knees I beseech her pardon for that wrong ;
in my last prayers I shall breathe her name."

" And wherefore didst thou go with her ?" he continued, on
Agnes narrating the scene between the princess and the king.
" Alas ! my gentle one, hadst thou not endured enough, that
thou wouldst harrow up thy soul by hearing the confirmation
of my doom from the tyrant's own ruthless lips — didst dream
of pardon ? dearest, no, thou couldst not."

" Nigel, Nigel, I did, even at that moment, though they
told me thou wert condemned, that nothing could save thee ;
though the princess besought me almost on her knees to spare
myself this useless trial, I would not listen to her. I would
not believe that all was hopeless ; I dreamed still, still of par-
don, that Edward would listen to his noble child, would forgive,
and I thought, even if she "failed, I would so plead he must
have mercy, he would listen to me and grant my prayer. I
did dream of pardon, but it was vain, vain! Nigel, Nigel,
why did my voice fail, my eye grow dim ? I might have won
thy pardon yet."

" Beloved, thou couldst not," he answered, mournfully.
" Mine own sweet Agnes, take comfort, 'tis but a brief fare-

THE DAYS OF BBUCE. 311

well ; we shall meet where war and blood and death can never
enter more."

" I know it,. oh, I know it," she sobbed ; " but to part thus,
to lose thee, and by such a death, oh, it is horrible, most hor-
rible !"

" Nay, look not on it thus, beloved ; there is no shame even
in this death, if there be no shame in him who dies."

" Shame !" she repeated ; " coiildst think I could couple
aught of shame with thee, my own ? even this dark fate is
noble when borne by such as thee."

Nigel held her closer to his heart, and for his sole answer
pressed a quivering kiss upon her cheek. Gloucester, who had
been in earnest commune with the sentinel without the door,
now returned, and informed him that the soldier, who was well
known to him and who much disliked his present watch, had
willingly consented that the page (whom Gloucester had repre-
sented as a former attendant of Sir Nigel's, though now trans-
ferred to his service) should remain with his former master, on
condition that the earl would come for him before the priests
and others who were to attend him to the scaffold entered the
dungeon, as this departure from the regular prison discipline,
shown as it was to one against whom the king was unusually
irritated, might cost him his head. Gloucester had promised
faithfully, and he offered them the melancholy option of part-
ing now, or a few sad hours hence.

" Let me, do let me stay ; Nigel, my husband, send me not
from thee now!" exclaimed Agnes, sinking at his feet and
clasping his knees. " I will not weep, nor moan, nor in aught
afflict thee. Nigel, dearest Nigel, I will not leave thee now."

" But is it wise, is it well, my best beloved ? think, if in the
deep anguish of to-morrow thy disguise be penetrated, thy
sex discovered, and thy cruel father claim thee, dragging thee
even from the protection of the princess — oh, the bitterness of
death were doubled then! Thou thinkest but of me, mine
own, but thy safety, thy future peace is all now left for me."

" Safety, peace — oh, do not, do not mock me, Nigel — where
are they for poor Agnes, save in her husband's grave ? What
is life now, that thou shouldst seek to guard it ? no, no, I will
abide by thee, thou shalt not send me hence."

" But to-morrow, lady, to-morrow," interposed Gloucester,
with deep commiseration. " I would not, from any selfish

312 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

fear, shorten by one minute the few sad hours ye may yet pass
together, but bethink ye, I dare not promise to shield thee
from the horrors of to-morrow, for I cannot. Fearful scenes
and sounds may pass before thee ; thou mayest come in con-
tact with men from whom thou wilt shrink in horror, and
though thine own safety be of little worth, remember the be-
trayal of thy sex and rank may hurl down the royal vengeance
on the head of thy protectress, daughter of Edward though
she be. Canst thou be firm — wilt thou, canst thou await the
morrow?"

" Yes," answered Agnes, the wildness of her former accents
subsiding into almost solemnity ; " the safety of thy noble
countess shall not be hazarded through me. Leave me with
my husband, add but this last mercy to the many thou hast
showered on me, and the blessing of God will rest on thee and
thy noble wife forever."

She raised his hand to her lips, and Gloucester, much af-
fected, placed hers in her husband's, and wrung them convul-
sively together. " We shall meet again," was all he trusted
his voice to utter, and departed.

The hours waned, each one finding no change in the position
of those loving ones. The arm of Agnes twined around the
neck of her beloved, her brow leaned against his bosom, her
left hand clasped his right, and his left arm, though fettered,
could yet fold that slender waist, could yet draw her closer to
him, with an almost unconscious pressure ; his lips repeatedly
pressed that pale brow, which . only moved from its position to
lift up her eyes at his entreaty in his face, and he would look
on those features, lovely still, despite their attenuation and deep
sorrow, gaze at them with an expression that, spite of his
words of consoling love, betrayed that the dream of earth yet
lingered ; he could not "close his eyes on her without a thrill of
agony, sharper than the pang of death. But the enthusiast
and the patriot spoke not at that hour only of himself, or that
dearer self, the only being he had loved. He spoke of his
country, aye, and less deplored the chains which bound her
then, than with that prophetic spirit sometimes granted to the
departing, dilated on her future glory. He conjured Agnes,
for his sake, to struggle on and live ; to seek his brother and
tell him that, save herself, Nigel's last thought, last prayer was
his ; that standing on the brink of eternity, the mists of the

TIIE DATS OF BRUCE. 313

present had rolled away, he saw but the future — Scotland free,
and Robert her beloved and mighty king.

" Bid him not mourn for Nigel," he said ; " bid him not wa-
ver from his glorious purpose, because so many of his loved and
noble friends must fall — their blood is their country's ransom ;
tell him, had I a hundred lives, I would have laid them down
for him and for my country as gladly, as unhesitatingly as the
one I now resign ; and tell him, dearest, how I loved him to
the last, how the recollection of his last farewell, his fervent
blessing lingered with me to the end, giving me strength to strive
for him and die, as becomes his brother ; tell him I glory in my
death — it has no shame, no terror, for it is for him and Scot-
land. Wilt thou remember all this, sweet love ? wilt thou
speak to him these words ?"

" Trust me I will, all, all that thou hast said ; they are writ-
ten here," placing her hand on her heart, " here, and they will
not leave me, even if all else fail."

" And thou wilt say to him, mine own, that Nigel besought
his love, his tenderness for thee," he continued, losing the en-
thusiasm of the patriot in the tenderness of the husband ; " tell
him I look to him in part to discharge the debt of love, of grat-
itude I owe to thee ; to guard thee, cherish thee as his own
child. Alas ! alas ! I speak as if thou must reach him, and
yet, beset with danger, misery, as thou art, how may this be ?"

" Fear not for me ; it shall be, my husband. I will do thy
bidding, I will seek my king," she said, for when comfort failed
for him, she sought to give it. " Hast forgotten Dennid's
words ? He would be near me when I needed him, and he
will be, my beloved, I doubt him not."

" Could I but think so, could I but know that he would be
near to shield thee, oh, life's last care would be at an end,"
said Nigel, earnestly ; and then for some time that silence, more
eloquent, more fraught with feeling in such an hour than the
most impassioned words, fell on them both. When again he
spoke, it was on a yet more holy theme ; the thoughts, the
dreams of heaven, which from boyhood had been his, now
found vent in words and tones, which thrilled to the inmost
spirit of his listener, and lingered there, when all other sense
had fled. He had lived in an era of darkness. Revelation in
its doctrines belonged to the priests alone ; faith and obedience
demanded by the voice of man alone, were all permitted to the

14

314 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

laity, and spirits like Nigel's consequently formed a natural re-
ligion, in which they lived and breathed, hallowing the rites
which they practised, giving scope and glory to their faith.
He pictured the world, on whose threshold he now stood, pic-
tured it, not with a bold unhallowed hand, but as the comple-
tion, the consummation of all those dim whisperings of joy,
and hope, and wisdom, which had engrossed him below — the
perfection of that beauty, that loveliness, in the material and
immaterial, he had yearned for in vain on earth.

" And this world of incomparable unshadowed loveliness
awaits me," he said, the superstition of the age mingling for
the moment with thoughts which seemed to mark him a cen-
tury beyond his compeers ; " purchased by that single moment
of suffering called death. It is mine, my beloved, and shall be
thine ; and oh, when we meet there, how trivial will seem the
dark woes and boding cares of earth ! I have told thee the
vision of my vigil, Agnes, my beloved ; again I have seen that
blessed spirit, aye, and there was no more sadness on his pale
brow, naught, naught of earth — spiritualized, etherealized. He
hovered over my sleep, and with a smile beckoned me to the
glorious world he inhabits ; he seemed to call me, to await me,
and then the shrouding clouds on which he lay closed thicker
and thicker round him, till naught but his celestial features
beamed on me. Agnes, dearest, best, think of me thus, as
blessed eternally, unchangeably, as awaiting thee to share that
blessedness, not as one lost to thee, beloved ; and peace, aye,
joy e'en yet shall smile for thee."

" Nigel, Nigel, are there such things for the desolate, the
lone ?" murmured Agnes, raising her pale brow and looking
despairingly in his face. " Oh, I will think on thee, picture
thee in thy thrice-glorified home, but it will be with all of
mortal clinging to me still, and the wild yearnings to come to
thee will banish all of peace. Speak not such words to thy
poor weak Agnes, my beloved. I will struggle on to bear thy
message to my sovereign ; there lies my path when thou art
gone, darkness envelops it when that goal is gained — I have no
future now, save that which gives me back to thee."

He could not answer, and then again there was silence,
broken only by the low voice of prayer. They knelt together
on the cold stones, he raised her cold hands with his in suppli-
cation ; he prayed for mercy, pardon for himself, for comfort,

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 315

strength for her ; he prayed for his country and her king, her
chained and sorrowing sons, and the soft, liquid star of morn-
ing, gleaming forth through heavy masses of murky clouds
directly on them as they knelt, appeared an angel's answer.
The dawn broke ; bluer and bluer became the small and heav-
ily-barred casement, clearer and clearer grew the damp walls
of the dungeons, and morning, in its sunshine and gladness,
laughed along the earth. Closer and closer did Agnes cling
to that noble heart, but she spoke no word. " He tarries long
— merciful heaven, grant he be not detained too late !" she
heard her husband murmur, as to himself, as time waned and
Gloucester came not, and she guessed his thoughts.

" I care not," she answered, in a voice so hollow he shud-
dered ; " I will go with thee, even to the scaffold."

But Gloucester, true to his promise, came at length ; he was
evidently anxious and disturbed, and a few hurried words told
how the Earl of Berwick had detained him in idle converse, as
if determined to prevent any private interview with the pris-
oner ; even now the officers and priests were advancing to the
dungeons, their steps already reverberated through the pas-
sages, and struck on the heart of Agnes as a bolt of ice. " I
had much, much I wished to say, but even had I time, what
boots it now ? Nigel, worthy brother of him I so dearly loved,
aye, even now would die to serve, fear not for the treasure thou
leavest to my care ; as there is a God above us, I will guard
her as my sister! They come — farewell, thou noble heart,
thou wilt leave many a foe to mourn thee !" The voice of the
earl quivered with emotion. Nigel convulsively pressed his
extended hand, and then he folded Agnes in his arms ; he
kissed her lips, her brow, her cheek, he parted those cluster-
ing curls to look again and yet again upon her face — pale,
rigid as sculptured marble. She uttered no sound, she
made no movement, but consciousness had not departed ; the
words of Gloucester on the previous night rung in her ears,
demanding control, and mechanically she let her arms unloose
their convulsive grasp of Nigel, and permitted the earl gently
to lead her to the door, but ere it opened, she turned again to
look on Nigel. He stood, his hands clasped in that convulsive
pressure of agony, his every feature working with the mighty
effort at control with the last struggle of the mortal shell.
With one faint yet thrilling cry she bounded back, she threw

316 THE DAYS OF BKUOE.

herself upon his swelling bosom, her lips met his in one last
lingering kiss, and Gloucester tore her from his arms. They
passed the threshold, another minute and the officers, and
guard, and priest stood within the dungeon, and a harsh, rude
voice bade the confessor haste to shrive the prisoner, for the
hour of execution was at hand.

Bearing the slight form of the supposed page in his arms,
Gloucester hastily threaded the passages leading from the dun-
geon to the postern by which he had intended to depart. His
plan had been to rejoin his attendants and turn his back upon
the city of Berwick ere the execution could take place ; a plan
which, from his detention, he already found was futile. The
postern was closed and secured, and he was compelled to re-
trace his steps to a gate he had wished most particularly to
avoid, knowing that it opened on a part of the court which,
from its commanding a view of the scaffold, he justly feared
would be crowded. He had paused but to speak one word of
encouragement to Agnes, who, with a calmness appalling from
the rigidity of feature which accompanied it, now stood at his
side ; he bade her only hold by his cloak, and he hoped speed-
ily to lead her to a place of safety. She heard him and made
a sign of obedience. They passed the gate unquestioned, trav-
ersed an inner court, and made for the great entrance of the
castle ; there, unhappily, their progress was impeded. The
scaffold, by order of Edward, had been erected on the summit
of a small green ascent exactly opposite the prison of the
Countess of Buchan, and extending in a direct line about half
a quarter of a mile to the right of the castle gates, which had
been flung wide open, that all the inhabitants of Berwick might
witness the death of a traitor. Already the courts and every
vacant space was crowded. A sea of human heads was alone
visible, nay, the very buttresses and some pinnacles of the
castle, which admitted any footing, although of the most pre-
carious kind, had been appropriated. The youth, the extraor-
dinary beauty, and daring conduct of the prisoner had excited
an unusual sensation in the town, and the desire to mark how
such a spirit would meet his fate became irresistibly intense.
Already it seemed as if there could be no space for more, yet
numbers were still pouring in, not only most completely frus-
trating the intentions of the Earl of Gloucester, but forcing him,
by the pressure of multitudes, with them towards the scaffold.

THE DAYS OF BKUCK. 317

In vain he struggled to free himself a passage ; in vain he
haughtily declared his rank and bade the presumptuous serfs
give way. Some, indeed, fell back, but uselessly, for the
crowds behind pushed on those before, and there was no re-
treating, no possible means of escaping from that sight of hor-
ror which Gloucester had designed so completely to avoid.
In the agony of disappointment, not a little mixed with terror
as to its effects, he looked on his companion. There was not
a particle of change upon her countenance ; lips, cheek, brow,
were indeed bloodless as marble, and as coldly still ; her eyes
were fascinated on the scaffold, and they moved not, quivered
not. Even when the figure of an aged minstrel, in the garb of
Scotland, suddenly stood between them and the dread object
of their gaze, their expression changed not ; she placed her
hand in his, she spoke his name to her conductor, but it was as
if a statue was suddenly endowed with voice and motion, so
cold was the touch of that hand, so sepulchral was that voice ;
she motioned him aside with a gesture that compelled obedi-
ence, and again she looked upon the scaffold. The earl wel-
comed the old man gladly, for the tale of Agnes had already
prepared him to receive him, and to rely on his care to convey
her back to Scotland. Engrossed with his anxiety for her, and
whenever that permitted him, speaking earnestly to the old
man, Gloucester remained wholly unconscious of the close vicin-
ity of one he was at that moment most desirous to avoid.

The Earl of Buchan, in the moment of ungovernable rage,
had indeed flung himself on horseback and galloped from the
castle the preceding night, intending to seek the king, and pe-
tition that the execution might be deferred till the torture had
dragged the retreat of Agnes from Nigel's lips. The cool air
of night, however, had had the effect of so far dissipating the
fumes of passion, as to convince him that it would be well-nigh
impossible to reach Carlisle, obtain an interview with Edward
at such an unseasonable hour, and return to Berwick in sufficient
time for the execution of his diabolical scheme. He let the
reins fall on his horse's neck, to ponder, and finally made up
his mind it was better to let things take their course, and the
sentence of the prisoner proceed without interruption ; a deter-
mination hastened by the thought that should he die under the
torture, all the ignominy and miseiy of a public execution
would be eluded. The night was very dark and misty, the

318 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

road in some parts passing through woods and morasses, and
the earl, too much engrossed with his own dark thoughts to
attend to his path, lost the track and wandered round and
round, instead of going forward. This heightened not the
amiability of his previous mood ; but until dawn his efforts to
retrace his steps or even discover were he was were useless.
The morning, however, enabled him to reach Berwick, which
he did just as the crowds were pouring into the castle-yard,
and the heavy toll of the bell announced the commencement of
that fatal tragedy. He hastily dismounted and mingled with
the populace, they bore him onward through another postern
to that by which the other crowds had impelled Gloucester.
Finding the space before them already occupied, these two
human streams, of course, met and conjoined in the centre ;
and the two earls stood side by side. Gloucester, as we have
said, wholly unconscious of Buchan's vicinity, and Buchan
watching his anxious and sorrowful looks with the satisfaction
of a fiend, revelling in his being thus hemmed in on all sides,
and compelled to witness the execution of his friend. He
watched him closely as he spoke with the minstrel, but tried
in vain to distinguish what they said. He looked on the page
too, and with some degree of wonder, though he believed it
only mortal terror which made him look thus, natural in so
young a child ; but afterwards that look was only too fatally
recalled.

Sleepless and sad had been that long night to another inmate
of Berwick Castle, as well as to Nigel and his Agnes. It was
not till the dawn had broken that the Countess of Buchan had
sunk into a deep though troubled slumber, for it was not till
then the confused sounds of the workmen employed in erect-
ing the scaffold had ceased. She knew not for whom it was
upraised, what noble friend and gallant patriot would there be
sacrificed. She would not, could not believe it was for Nigel ;
for when his name arose in her thoughts, it was shudderingly
repelled, and with him came the thought of her child — where,
oh, where was she ? — what would be her fate ? The tolling
of the bell awoke her from the brief trance of utter unconscious-
ness into which, from exhaustion, she had fallen. She glanced
once beneath her. The crowds, the executioner at his post,
the guard already round the scaffold, too truly told the hour
was at hand, and though her heart turned sick with apprehen-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 319

sion, and she felt as if to know the worst were preferable to
the hour of suspense, she could not look again, and she would
have sought the inner chamber, and endeavor to close both
ears and eyes to all that was passing without, when the Earl
of Berwick suddenly entered, and harshly commanded her to
stir not from the cage.

" It is your sovereign's will, madam, that you witness the
fate of the traitor so daring in your cause," he said, as with a
stern grasp he forced her to the grating and retained his hold
upon her arm ; " that you may behold in his deserved fate the
type of that which will at length befall the yet blacker traitor
of his name. It is fitting so loyal a patriot as thyself should
look on a patriot's fate, and profit thereby."

" Aye, learn how a patriot can die — how, when his life may
no more benefit his country and his kin, he may serve them in
his death," calmly and proudly she answered. " It is well ;
perchance, when my turn cometh, I may thank thy master for
the lesson now rudely forced upon me. The hour will come
when the blood that he now so unjustly sheds shall shriek
aloud for vengeance. On me let him work his will — I fear
him not."

" Be silent, minion ! I listen not to thy foul treason," said the
earl, hoarse with suppressed passion at the little effect his sov-
ereign's mandate produced, when he had hoped to have en-
forced it midst sobs and tears ; and she was silent, for her eye
had caught one face amidst the crowd that fascinated its gaze,
and sent back the blood, which had seemed^ to stagnate when
the idea that it was indeed Nigel now about to suffer had been
thus rudely thrust upon her — sent it with such sudden revulsion
through its varied channels, that it was only with a desperate
struggle she retained her outward calmness, and then she stood,
to the eye of Berwick, proud, dignified, collected, seemingly so
cold, that he doubted whether aught of feeling could remain,
or marvelled if the mandate of Edward had indeed power to
inflict aught of pain. But within — oh, the veriest tyrant must
have shuddered, could he have known the torture there ; she
saw, she recognized her child ; she read naught but madness
in that chiselled gaze ; she saw at a glance there was no escap-
ing from beholding, to the dreadful end, the fate of her be-
loved ; before, behind, on every side, the crowds pressed round,
yet from the slightly elevated position of the scaffold, failing

320 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

to conceal it from her gaze. The Earl of Gloucester she per-
ceived close at her side, as if protecting her ; but if indeed she
was under his care, how came she on s-uch a spot, at such a
time ? — did he know her sex, or only looked on her a^ a favored
page of Nigel's, and as such protected ? Yet would not the
anguish of that hour betray her not alone to him, but to that
dark and cruel man whom she also marked beside her, and
who, did he once know her, would demand the right of a
father, to give her to his care ? and oh, how would that right
be exercised ! would the murderer of his son, his heir, have
pity on a daughter ? But it would be a vain effort to picture
the deep anguish of that mother's heart, as in that dread mo-
ment she looked upon her child, knowing, feeling her might of
grief, as if it had been her own ; well-nigh suffocated with the
wild yearning to fold her to her maternal bosom, to bid her
weep there, to seek to comfort, to soothe, by mingling her tears
with hers, to protect, to hide her misery from all save her
mother's eye — to feel this till every pulse throbbed as to
threaten her with death, and yet to breathe no word, to give
no sign that such things were, lest she should endanger that
precious one yet more. She dared not breathe one question of
the many crowding on her heart, she could but gaze and feel.
She had thought, when they told her that her boy was dead,
that she had caused his death, there was little more of misery
fate could weave, but at that moment even Alan was forgot-
ten. It was her own wretchedness she had had then to bear,
for he was at rest ; but now it was the anguish of that dearer
self, her sole remaining child — and oh, a mother's heart can
better bear its individual woes than those that crush a daughter
to the earth.

A sudden rush amidst the crowd, where a movement could
take place, the heavy roll of muffled drums, and the yet deep-
er, more wailing toll of the funeral bell, announced that the
prisoner had left the dungeon, and irresistibly the gaze of the
countess turned from her child to seek him ; perchance it was
well, for the preservation of her composure, that the inter-
vening crowd prevented her beholding him till he stood upon
the scaffold, for hardly could she have borne unmoved the
sight of that noble and gallant form — beloved alike as the
friend of her son, the betrothed of her daughter, the brother
of her king — degraded of all insignia of rank, chained to the

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 321

hurdle, and dragged as the commonest, the vilest criminal, ex-
posed to the mocking gaze of thousands, to the place of execu-
tion. She saw him not thus, and therefore she knew not
wherefore the features of Agnes had become yet more rigid,
bore yet more the semblance of chiselled marble. He stood
at length upon the scaffold, as calmly majestic in his bearing
as if he had borne no insult, suffered no indignity. His beauti-
ful hair had been arranged with care on either side his face,
and still fell in its long, rich curls, about his throat; and so
beautiful, so holy was the expression of his perfect features,
that the assembled crowds hushed their very breath in admira-
tion and in awe ; it seemed as if the heaven, on whose threshold
he stood, had already fixed its impress on his broV. Every
eye was upon him, and all perceived that holy calmness was
for one brief minute disturbed ; but none, save three of those
who marked it, knew or even guessed the cause. The count-
ess had watched his glance, as at first composedly it had wan-
dered over the multitude beneath and around him, and she saw
it rest on that one face, which, in its sculptured misery, stood
alone amidst thousands, and she alone perceived the start of
agony that sight occasioned, but speedily even that emotion
passed; he looked from that loved face up to the heaven on
which his hopes were fixed, in whose care for her he trusted —
and that look was prayer. She saw him as he knelt in prayer,
undisturbed by the clang of instruments still kept up around
him ; she saw him rise, and then a deadly sickness crept over
her every limb, a thick mist obscured her sight, sense seemed
on the point of deserting her, when it was recalled by a sound
of horror — a shriek so wild, so long, so thrilling, the rudest
spirit midst those multitudes shrank back appalled, and crossed
themselves in terror. On one ear it fell with a sense of agony
almost equal to that from whence it came ; the mother recog-
nized the voice, and feeling, sight, hearing, as by an electric
spell, returned. She looked forth again, and though her eye
caught the noble form of Nigel Bruce yet quivering in the air,
she shrunk not, she sickened not, for its gaze sought her child ;
she had disappeared from the place she had occupied. She
saw the Earl of Gloucester making a rapid way through the
dispersing crowds, a sudden gust blew aside his wrapping-
cloak, the face of her child was exposed to her view, there was
a look of death upon her brow ; and if the Earl of Berwick had

H*

322 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

lingered to note whether indeed this scene of horror would pass
unnoticed, unfelt by his prisoner, he was gratified at length, for
Isabella of Buchan lay senseless on her prison floor.

CHAPTER XXVI.

" AND she is in safety, Gilbert ?" inquired the Princess
Joan, the evening of the day following the execution, lifting her
eyes, swimming in tears, to her husband's face. They were
sitting alone in their private apartments, secured from all in-
truders by a page stationed in the ante-room ; and the earl had
been relating some important particulars of the preceding day.

" I trust in heaven she is, and some miles ere now on her
road to Scotland," was his answer. " I fear for nothing save
for the beautiful mind that fragile shell contains ; alas ! my
Joan, I fear me that has gone forever !"

" Better, oh better, then, that fainting-fit had indeed been
death," she said, " that the thread of life had snapped than
twisted thus in madness. Yet thou sayest her purpose
seemed firm, her intellect clear, in her intense desire to
reach Scotland. Would this be, thinkest thou, were they dis-
ordered ?"

" I think yes ; for hadst thou seen, as I, the expression of
countenance, the unearthly calmness with which this desire
was enforced, the constant, though unconscious, repetition of
words as these, ' to the king, to the king, my path lies there,
he bade me seek him ; perchance he will be there to meet me,'
thou too wouldst feel that, when that goal is gained, her hus-
band's message given, sense must fail or life itself depart.
But once for a few brief minutes I saw that calmness partly
fail, and I indulged in one faint hope she would be relieved by
tears. She saw old Dermid gaze on her and weep ; she clung
to his neck, her features worked convulsively, and her voice was
choked and broken, as she said, " We must not tarry, Dermid,
we must not wait to weep and moan ; I must seek King
Robert while I can. There is a fire on my brain and heart,
which will soon scorch up all memory but one ; I must not
wait till it has reached his words, and burned them up too — oh,

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 323

let us on at once ;' but the old man's kindly words had not the
effect I hoped, she only shook her head, and then, as if the
horrible recollection of the past flashed back, a convulsive shud-
dering passed through her frame, and when she raised her face
from her hand its marble rigidity had returned."

" Alas ! alas ! poor sufferer," exclaimed the princess, in
heartfelt sorrow ; "I fear indeed, if such things be, there is
little hope of reason. I would thou hadst conveyed her here,
perchance the soothing and sympathy of one of her own sex
had averted this evil."

" I doubt, my kind Joan," replied her husband ; " thy words
had such beneficial power before, because hope had still pos-
session of her breast, she hoped to the very last, aye, even
when she so madly went with thee to Edward ; now that is
over ; hope is crushed, when despair has risen. Thou couldst
not have soothed ; it would have been but wringing thy too
kind heart, and exposing her to other and heightened evils."
The princess looked up inquiringly. " Knosvest thou not
Buchan hath discovered that his daughter remained with Nigel
Bruce, as his engaged bride, at Kildrummie, and is even now
seeking her retreat, vowing she shall repent with tears of blood
her connection with a Bruce ?"

" I did not indeed ; how came this ?"

" How, I know not, save that it was reported Buchan had
left the court, on a mission to the convent where the Countess
of Carrick and her attendants are immured, and in all proba-
bility learnt this important fact from them. I only know that
at the instant I entered the prisoner's dungeon, Buchan was
demanding, at the sword's point, the place of her retreat, inci-
ted to the deadliest fury at Nigel's daring avowal that Agnes
was his wife."

" Merciful heaven ! and Agnes, what did she ?"

" I know not, for I dared not, absolutely dared not look upon
her face. Her husband's self-control saved her, for he stood
and answered as calmly and collectedly as if indeed she. were
in the safety he declared ; her father brushed by, nay, well-
nigh stumbled over her, as he furiously quitted the dungeon,
glared full at her, but knew her not. But I dared not again
bring her here, it was in too close vicinity with the king and
her cruel father, for her present state of mind must have be-
trayed every disguise."

324: THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

"And thinkest thou be could have the heart to injure
her, separated as she is by death from the husband of her
love ?"

" Aye, persecute her as he hath his wife and son. Joan, I
would rather lose my own right hand than that unhappy girl
should fall into her father's power. Confinement, indeed,
though it would add but little real misery to her present lot,
yet I feel that with her present wild yearnings to rejoin the
Bruce, to fulfil to the very utmost her husband's will, it would
increase tenfold the darkness round her ; the very dread of
her father would unhinge the last remaining link of intellect."

Joan shuddered. " God in mercy forefend such ill !" she
said, fervently ; " I would I could have seen her once again,
for she has strangely twined herself about my heart ; but thou
hast judged wisely, my Gilbert, her safety is too precious to
be thus idly risked ; and this old man, canst thou so trust him —
will he guide her tenderly and well ?"

" Aye, I would stake my life upon his truth ; he is the seer
and minstrel of the house of Bruce, and that would be all-
sufficient to guarantee his unwavering fidelity and skill. He
has wandered on foot from Scotland, to look on his beloved
master once again ; to watch over, as a guardian spirit, the
fate of that master's devoted wife, and he will do this, I doubt
not, and discover Carrick's place" of retreat, were it at the
utmost boundaries of the earth. I only dread pursuit."

" Pursuit ! and by whom ?"

" By her father. Men said he was close beside me during
that horrible hour, though I saw him not ; if he observed her,
traced to her lips that maddening shriek, it would excite his
curiosity quite sufficiently for him to trace my steps, and dis-
covery were then inevitable."

" But did he do this — hast seen him since ?"

" No, he has avoided me ; but still, for her sake, I fear him.
I know not how or when, but there are boding whispers within
me that all will not be well. Now I would have news from
thee. Is Hereford released ?"

" Yes ; coupled with the condition that he enters not my
father's presence until Easter. He is deeply and justly hurt ;
but more grieved at the change in his sovereign than angered
at the treatment of himself."

" No marvel ; for if ever there were a perfect son of chivalry,

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 325

one most feelingly alive to its smallest point of honor, it is
Humphrey Bohun."

So spoke Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, unconscious
that he himself had equal right to a character so exalted ; that
both Scottish and English historians would emulate each other
in handing his name down to posterity, surrounded by that
lucid halo of real worth, on which the eye turns again and
again to rest for relief from the darker minds and ruder hearts
which formed the multitude of the age in which he lived. The
duties of friendship were performed in his preservation of the
person, and constant and bold defence of the character of the
Bruce ; the duties of a subject, in dying on the battle-field hi
service for his king.

The boding prognostics of the Earl of Gloucester were veri-
fied ere that day closed. While still in earnest converse with
his countess, a messenger came from the king, demanding their
instant presence in his closet. The summons Avas so unusual,
that in itself it was alarming, nor did the sight of the Earl of
Buchan in close conference with the monarch decrease their
fears. As soon as a cessation of his pains permitted the exer-
tion, Buchan had been sent for by the king ; the issue of his
inquiries after his daughter demanded, and all narrated ; his
interview with Sir Nigel dwelt upon with all the rancor of
hate. Edward had listened without making any observation ;
a twinkle of his still bright eye, an expression about the lips
alone betraying that he not only heard but was forming his own
conclusions from the tale.

" And you have no clue, no thought of her retreat ?" he
asked, at length, abruptly, when the earl ceased.

" Not the very faintest, your grace. Had not that interfer-
ing Gloucester come between me and my foe, I had forced it
from him at the sharp sword's point."

Gloucester — humph !" muttered the king. " Yet an so
bloody was thy purpose, my good lord, his interference did
thee no ill. How was the earl accompanied — was he
alone ?"

"If I remember rightly, alone, your grace. No, by my
faith, there was a page with him !"

" A page — ha ! and what manner of man was he ?"

" Man ! your highness, say rather a puny stripling, with far
more of the woman about him than the man."

326 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

" Ha !" again uttered the king ; " looked he so weakly — did
thy fury permit such keen remark ?"

" Not at that time, your highness ; but he was, with Glou-
cester, compelled to witness the execution of this black traitor ;
and he looked white, statue-like, and uttered a shriek, forsooth,
likely to scare back the villain's soul even as it took flight.
Gloucester cared for the dainty brat, as if he had been a son
of your highness, not a page in his household, for he lifted him
up in his arms, and bore him out of the crowd."

" Humph !" said Edward again, in a tone likely to have
excited curiosity in any mind less obtuse on such matters than
that of the Scottish earl. " And thou sayest," he added, after
some few minutes' pause, " this daring traitor, so lately a man,
would tell thee no more than that thy daughter was his wife,
and in safety — out of thy reach?"

Buchan answered in the affirmative.

" And thou hast not the most distant idea where he hath
concealed her?"

" None, your highness."

" Then I will tell thee, sir earl ; and 'f thou dost not feel in-
clined to dash out thine own brains with vexation at letting thy
prey so slip out of thy grasp, thou art not the man I took thee
for," and Edward fixed his eyes on his startled companion with
a glance at once keen and malicious.

" The white and statue-looking page, with more of woman
about him than the man, was the wife of this rank villain, Sir
Nigel Bruce, and thy daughter, my Lord of Buchan. The
Earl of Gloucester may, perchance, tell thee more."

The earl started from his seat with an oath, which the pres-
ence of majesty itself could not restrain. The dulness of his
brain was dissolved as by a flash of lightning ; the ghastly ap-
pearance, the maddening shriek, the death-like faint, all of
which he had witnessed in Gloucester's supposed page, nay,
the very disturbed and anxious look of the earl himself, gave
truth and life to Edward's words, and he struck his clenched
fist against his brow, and strode up and down the royal closet,
in a condition as frantically disturbed as the monarch could
possibly have desired ; and then, hastily and almost incoherently,
besought the king's aid in sifting the matter to the very bottom,
and obtaining repossession of his daughter, entreating leave of
absence to seek out Gloucester and tax him with the fact.

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 327

Edward, whose fury against the house of Bruce — whether
man, woman, or child, noble or serf, belonging to them — had
been somewhat soothed by the ignominious execution of Nigel,
had felt almost as much amused as angered at the earl's tale,
and enjoyed the idea of a man, whom in his inmost heart he
most thoroughly despised, having been so completely outwitted,
and for the time so foiled. The feud between the Comyn and
the Bruce was nothing to him, except where it forwarded his
own interests. He had incited Buchan to inquire about his
daughter, simply because the occupation would remove that
earl out of his way for a short time, and perhaps, if the rumor
of her engagement with one of the brothers of the Bruce
were true, set another engine at work to discover the place of
their concealment. The moment Buchan informed him it was
to Nigel she had been engaged, with Nigel last seen, his acute
penetration recalled the page who had accompanied the prin-
cess when she supplicated mercy, and had he heard no more,
would have pointed there for the solution of the mystery. In-
censed he was and deeply, at the fraud practised upon him at
the Earl and Countess of Gloucester daring to harbor, nay,
protect and conceal the wife of a traitor ; but his anger was
subdued in part by the belief that now it was almost impossi-
ble she could escape the wardance of her father, and his venge-
ance would be more than sufficient to satisfy him ; nay, when
he recalled the face and the voice, it was so like madness and
death, and he was, moreover, so convinced that now her husband
was dead she could do him no manner of harm, that he inwardly
and almost unconsciously hoped she might eventually escape
her father's power, although he composedly promised the earl
to exercise his authority, and give him the royal warrant for
the search and committal of her person wherever she might
be. Anger, that Gloucester and his wife should so have dared
his sovereign power, was now the prevailing feeling, and there-
fore was it he commanded their presence, determined to
question them himself, rather than through the still enraged
Buchan.

Calmly and collectedly the noble pair received alike the dis-
pleasure of their sovereign and the ill-concealed fury of Buchan.
They neither denied the charge against them nor equivocated
in their motives for their conduct ; alarmed they were, indeed,
for the unhappy Agnes ; but as denial and concealment were

328 TILE DATS OF BKTJCE.

now alike impossible, and could avail her nothing, they boldly,
nay, proudly acknowledged that which they had done, and
openly rejoiced it had been theirs to give one gleam of comfort
to the dying Nigel, by extending protection to his wife.

"And are ye not traitors — bold, presuming traitors — deserv-
ing the chastisement of such, bearding me thus in my very
palace?" wrathful ly exclaimed Edward. "Know ye not both
are liable to the charge of treason, aye, treason — and fear ye to
brave us thus?"

"My liege, we are no traitors, amenable to no such charge,"
calmly answered Gloucester ; " far, far more truly, faithfully,
devotedly your grace's subjects than many of those who had
shrunk from an act as this. That in so doing we were likely to
incur your royal displeasure, we acknowledge with deep regret
and sorrow, and I take it no shame thus on my knee to beseech
your highness's indulgence for the fault; but if you deem it
worthy of chastisement, we are ready to submit to it, denying,
however, all graver charge, than that of failing in proper defer-
ence to your grace."

"All other charge! By St. Edward, is not that enough ?"
answered the king, but in a mollified tone. "And thou, min-
ion, thou whom we deemed the very paragon of integrity and
honor, hast thou aught to say ? Did not thy lips frame false-
hood, and thy bold looks confirm it?"

"My father, my noble father, pardon me that in this I
erred," answered Joan, kneeling by his side, and, despite his
efforts to prevent it, clasping his hand and covering it with
kisses; "yet I spoke no falsehood, uttered naught which was
not truth. She was ill and weakly ; she was well-nigh mad-
dened from scenes and sounds of blood. I had besought her
not to attend me, but a wife's agony could not be restrained,
and if we had refused her the protection she so wildly craved,
had discovered her person to your highness, would it have
availed thee aught ? a being young, scarce past her childhood —
miserable, maddened well-nigh to death, her life wrapt up in
her husband's, which was forfeited to thee."

"The wife of a traitor, the offspring of a traitress, connected
on every side with treason, and canst ask if her detention would
have availed us aught ? Joan, Joan, thy defence is but a weak
one," answered the king, sternly, but he called her " Joan," and
that simple word thrilled to her heart as the voice of former

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 329

years, and her father felt a sudden gush of tears fall on the
hand he had not withdrawn, and vainly he struggled against
the softening feelings those tears had brought. It was strange
that, angered as he really was, the better feelings of Edward
should in such a moment have so completely gained the as-
cendency. Perhaps he was not proof against the contrast be-
fore him, presented in the persons of Buchan and Gloucester ;
the base villainy of the one, the exalted nobility of the other,
alike shone forth the clearer from their unusually close contact.
In general, Edward was wont to deem these softening emotions
foolish weaknesses, which he would banish by shunning the so-
ciety of all those who could call them forth. Their candid
acknowledgment of having deserved his displeasure, and sub-
mission to his will, however, so soothed his self-love, his fond-
ness for absolute power, that he permitted them to have vent
with but little restraint. Agnes might have been the wife of a
traitor, but he was out of Edward's way ; the daughter of a
traitress, but she was equally powerless ; linked with treason,
but too much crushed by her own misery to be sensible of
aught else. Surely she was too insignificant for him to perse-
vere in wrath, and alienate by unmerited severity yet more the
hearts which at such moments he felt he valued, despite his
every effort to the contrary.

So powerfully was he worked upon, that had it not been for
the ill-restrained fury of Buchan, it was possible the subject
would have been in the end peaceably dismissed ; but on that
earl's reminding him of his royal word, the king commanded
Gloucester to deliver up his charge to her rightful* guardian,
and all the past should be forgiven. The earl quietly and re-
spectfully replied he could not, for he knew not where she was.
Wrath gathered on Edward's brow, and Buchan laid his hand
on his sword ; but neither the royal commands nor Buchan's
muttered threats and oaths of vengeance could elicit from
Gloucester more than that she had set off to return to Scotland
with an aged man, not three hours after the execution had
taken place. He had purposely avoided all inquiries as to their
intended route, and therefore not any cross-questioning on the
part of the king caused him to waver in the smallest point from
his original tale, or afforded any evidence that he knew more
than he said.

" Get thee to Sir Edward Cunningham, my Lord of Buchan,

330 THE DATS OF BRUCE.

and bid him draw up a warrant for the detention and commit-
tal of these two persons wherever they may be," the king said,
" and away with thee, and a trusty troop, with all speed to
Berwick. Make inquiries of all who at that particular hour
passed the gates, and be assured thou wilt find some clue.
Take men enough to scour the country in all directions ; pro-
vide them with an exact description of the prisoners they seek,
and tarry not, and thou wilt yet gain thy prize ; living or dead,
we resign all our right over her person to thee, and give thee
power, as her father, to do with her what may please thee best.
Away with thee, my lord, and heaven speed thee !"

" My liege and father, oh, why hast thou done this ?" ex-
claimed the princess, imploringly, as, with a low obeisance to
the king and a gesture of triumph at the Earl of Gloucester,
Buchan departed. " Hath she not borne misery enough !"

" Nay, we do but our duty to our subjects in aiding fathers
to repress rebellious children," replied the king. " Of a truth,
fair dame of Gloucester, thy principles of filial duty seem some-
what as loose and light as those which counselled abetting, pro-
tecting, and concealing the partner of a traitor. Wouldst have
us refuse Buchan's most fatherly desire ? Surely thou wouldst
not part him from his child ?"

" Forever and forever !" exclaimed the princess, fervently.
" Great God in heaven, that such a being should call that mon-
ster father, and owe him the duty of a child ! But, oh, thou
dost but jest, my father ; in mercy recall that warrant — expose
her not to wretchedness as this !"

" Peace," replied the king, sternly. " As thou valuest thine
own and thy husband's liberty and life, breathe not another
syllable, speak not another word for her, or double misery shall
be her portion. We have shown enough of mercy in demand-
ing no further punishment for that which ye have done, than
that for ten days ye remain prisoners in your own apartments.
Answer not ; we will have no more of this."

The Earl of Buchan, meanwhile, had made no delay in gain-
ing the necessary aids to his plan. Ere two hours passed, he
was on his road to Berwick, backed with a stout body of his
own retainers, and bearing a commission to the Earl of Berwick
to provide him with as many more as he desired. He went
first to the hostelry near the outskirts of the town, where he
remembered Gloucester had borne the supposed page. There

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 331

he obtained much desirable information, an exact description of
the dress, features, and appearance of both the page and his
companion ; of the former, indeed, he recollected all-sufficient,
even had the description been less exact. The old minstrel had
attracted the attention of many within the hostel, and conse-
quently enabled Buchan to obtain information from various
sources, all of which agreed so well that he felt sure of success.

Backed by the warrant of Edward, he went to the civil au-
thorities of the town, obtained four or five technically drawn-up
descriptions of the prisoners, and intrusted them to the differ-
ent officers, who, with bands of fifty men, he commanded to
search every nook and corner of the country round Berwick, in
various directions. He himself discovering they had passed
through the Scotch gate and appeared directing their course in
a westerly direction, took with him one hundred men, and fol-
lowed that track, buoyed up by the hope not only of gaining
possession of his daughter, but perhaps of falling in with the
retreat even of the detested Bruce, against whom he had sol-
emnly recorded a vow never to let the sword rest in the scab-
bard till he had revenged the murder of his kinsman, the Red
Comyn. Some words caught by a curious listener, passing
between the page and minstrel, and eagerly reported to him,
convinced him it was Robert Bruce they sought, and urged him
to continue the search with threefold vigor.

Slowly and sadly meanwhile had the hours of their weary
pilgrimage passed for the poor wanderers, and little did they
imagine, as they threaded the most intricate paths of the bor-
ders of Scotland, that they were objects of persecution and
pursuit. Though the bodily strength of Agnes had well-nigh
waned, though the burning cheek and wandering, too brightly
flashing eye denoted how fearfully did fever rage internally,
she would not pause save when absolutely compelled. She
could neither sleep nor eat : her only cry was, " To the king —
bring me but to King Robert while I may yet speak !" her
only consciousness, that she had a mission to perform, that she
was intrusted with a message from the dead ; all else was a
void, dark, shapeless, in which thought framed no image ; mind,
not a wish. Insensibility it was not, alas ! no, that void was
woe, all woe, which folded up heart and brain as with a cloak
of fire, scorching up thought, memory, hope — all that could re-
call the past, vivify the present, or vision forth the future. She

332 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

breathed indeed and spoke, and clung to that aged man with
all the clinging helplessness of her sex, but scarce could she be
said to live ; all that was real of life had twined round her
husband's soul, and with it fled.

The old man felt not his advanced age, the consciousness of
the many dangers hovering on their way ; his whole thought
was for her, to bring her to the soothing care and protection of
the king, and then he cared not how soon his sand run out.
When wandering in the districts of Annandale and Carrick, be-
fore he had arrived at Berwick, he had learned the secret but
most important intelligence that King Robert had passed the
Avinter off the coast of Ireland, and was supposed to be only
waiting a favorable opportunity to return to Scotland, and once
more upraise his standard. This news had been most religi-
ously and strictly preserved a secret amid the few faithful ad-
herents of the Bruce, who perhaps spoke yet more as they
hoped than as a fact well founded.

For some days their way had been more fatiguing than dan-
gerous, for though the country was overrun with English, a min-
strel and a page were objects far too insignificant, in the pres-
ent state of excitement, to meet with either detention or notice.
Not a week had passed, however, before rumors of Buchan's
parties reached the old man's ears, and filled him with anxiety
and dread. The feverish restlessness of Agnes to advance yet
quicker on their way, precluded all idea of halting, save in
woods and caverns, till the danger had passed. Without in-
forming her of all he had heard, and the danger he appre-
hended, he endeavored to avoid all towns and villages ; but the
heavy rains which had set in rendered their path through the
country yet more precarious and uncertain, and often compelled
him most unwillingly to seek other and better shelter. At
Strathaven he became conscious that their dress and appear-
ance were strictly scrutinized, and some remarks that he dis-
tinguished convinced him that Buchan had either passed
through that town, or was lingering in its neighborhood still.
Turning sick with apprehension, the old man hastily retraced
his steps to the hostel, where he had left Agnes, and found
her, for the first time since their departure, sunk into a kind
of sleep or stupor from exhaustion, from which he could not
bear to arouse her. Watching her for some little time in
silence, his attention was attracted by whispering voices, only

THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

separated from him by a thin partition. They recounted and
compared one by one the dress and peculiar characteristics of
himself and his companion, seeming to compare it with a writ-
ten list. Then followed an argument as to whether it would
not be better to arrest their progress at once, or send on to the
Earl of Buchan, who was at a castle only five miles distant.
How it was determined Dermid knew not, for the voices faded in
the distance ; but he had heard enough, and it seemed indeed as
if detention and restraint were at length at hand. What to do
he knew not. Night had now some hours advanced, and to
attempt leaving the hostel at such an unseasonable hour would
be of itself sufficient to confirm suspicion. All seemed at rest
within the establishment ; there was no sound to announce that
a messenger had been dispatched to the earl, and he deter-
mined to await as calmly as might be the dawn.

The first streak of light, however, was scarce visible in the
east before, openly and loudly, so as to elude all appearance of
flight, he declared his intention of pursuing his journey, as the
weather had already detained them too long. He called on
the hostess to receive her reckoning, commanded the mules to
be saddled, all of which was done, to his surprise, without
comment or question, and they departed unrestrained ; the old
man too much overjoyed at this unexpected escape to note that
they were followed by two Englishmen, the one on horseback,
the other on foot. Anxiety indeed had still possession of him,
for he could not reconcile the words he had overheard with
their quiet departure ; but as the day passed, and they plunged
thicker and thicker in the woods of Carrick, and there was no
sign of pursuit, or even of a human form, he hailed with joy a
solitary house, and believed the danger passed.

The inmates received them with the utmost hospitality ; the
order for their detention had evidently not reached them, and
Dermid determined on waiting quietly there till the exhausted
strength of his companion should be recruited, and permit
them to proceed. An hour and more passed in cheerful con-
verse with the aged couple who owned the house, and who,
with the exception of one or two servants, were its sole inhab-
itants. The tales of the minstrel were called for and received
with a glee which seemed to make all his listeners feel young
again. Agnes alone sate apart ; her delicate frame and evident
exhaustion concealing deeper sufferings from her hosts, who

334: THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

vied with each other in seeking to alleviate her fatigue and give
hodily comfort, if they could offer no other consolation. Lean-
ing back in a large settle in the chimney corner, she had seemed
unconscious of the cheerful sociability around her, when sud-
denly she arose, and advancing to Dermid, laid a trembling hand
on his arm. He looked up surprised.

" Hist !" she murmured, throwing back the hair from her
damp brow. " Hear ye no sound ?"

All listened for a time in vain.

" Again," she said ; " 'tis nearer, more distinct. Who comes
with a troop of soldiers here ?"

It was indeed the heavy trampling of many horse, at first so
distant as scarcely to be distinguished, save by ears anxious
and startled as old Dermid's ; but nearer and nearer they came,
till even the inmates of the house all huddled together in alarm.
Agnes remained standing, her hand on Dermid's arm, her head
thrown back, her features bearing an expression scarce to be
defined. The horses' hoofs, mingled with the clang of armor,
rung sharp and clear on the stones of the courtyard. They
halted : the pommel of a sword was struck against the oaken
door, and a night's lodging courteously demanded. The terror
of the owners of the house subsided, for the voice they heard
was Scotch.

The door was thrown open, the request granted, with the
same hospitality as had been extended to the minstrel and the
page. On the instant there was a confused sound of warriors
dismounting, of horses eager for stabling and forage ; and one
tall and stately figure, clad from head to foot in mail, entered
the house, and removing his helmet, addressed some words of
courteous greeting and acknowledgment to its inmates. A
loud exclamation burst from the minstrel's lips ; but Agnes
uttered no sound, she made one bound forward, and dropped
senseless at the warrior's feet.

CHAPTER XXVII.

- IT was on a cool evening, near the end of September, 1311,
that a troop, consisting of about thirty horse, and as many on
foot, were leisurely traversing the mountain passes between the

THE DAYS OF BEUCE. 335

counties of Dumfries and Lanark. Their arms were well bur-
nished ; their buff coats and half- armor in good trim ; their
banner waved proudly from its staff, as bright and gay as if it
had not even neared a scene of strife ; and there was an air of
hilarity and gallantry about them that argued well for success,
if about to commence an expedition, or if returning, told with
equal emphasis they had been successful. That the latter was
the case was speedily evident, from the gay converse passing
between them ; their allusions to some late gallant achievement
of their patriot sovereign ; their joyous comparisons between
good King Robert and his weak opponent, Edward II. of Eng-
gland, marvelling how so wavering and indolent a son could
have sprung from so brave and determined a sire ; for, Scots-
men as they were, they were now FREE, and could thus afford
to allow the " hammer " of their country some knightly quali-
ties, despite the stern and cruel tyranny which to them had
ever marked his conduct. They spoke in laughing scorn of the
second Edward's efforts to lay his father's yoke anew upon their
necks ; they said a just heaven had interfered and urged him
to waste the decisive moment of action in indolence and folly,
in the flatteries of his favorite, to the utter exclusion of those
wiser lords, whose counsels, if followed on the instant, might
have shaken even the wise and patriot Bruce. Yet they were
so devoted to their sovereign, they idolized him alike as a warrior
and a man too deeply, to allow that to the weak and vacillating
conduct of Edward they owed the preservation of their coun-
try. It was easy to perceive by the springy step, the flash-
ing eye, the ringing tone with which that magic name, the
Bruce, was spoken, how deeply it was written on the heart;
the joy it was to recall his deeds, and feel it was through him
that they were free ! Their converse easily betrayed them to
be one of those well-ordered though straggling parties into
which King Robert's invading armies generally dispersed at his
command, when returning to their own fastnesses, after a suc-
cessful expedition to the English border.

The laugh and jest resounded, as we have said, amongst
both officers and men ; but their leader, who was riding about
a stone's throw ahead, gave no evidence of sharing their mirth.
He was clad from head to foot in chain armor, of a hue so dark
as to be mistaken for black, and from his wearing a surcoat of
the same color, unenlivened by any device, gave him altogether

336 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

a somewhat sombre appearance, although it could not detract
in the smallest degree from the peculiar gracefulness and easy
dignity of his form, which was remarkable both on horseback
and on foot. He was evidently very tall, and by his firm seat
in the saddle, had been early accustomed to equestrian exer-
cises ; but his limbs were slight almost to delicacy, and though
completely ensheathed in mail, there was an appearance of ex-
treme youth about him, that perhaps rendered the absence of
all gayety the more striking. Yet on the battle-field he gave
no evidence of inexperience as a warrior, no sign that he was
merely a scholar in the art of war ; there only did men believe
he must be older than he seemed ; there only his wonted de-
pression gave place to an energy, a fire, second to none amongst
the Scottish patriots, not even to the Bruce himself ; then only
was the naturally melancholy music of his voice lost in accents
of thrilling power, of imperative command, and the oldest war-
riors followed him as if under the influence of some spell. But
of his appearance on the field we must elsewhere speak. He
now led his men through the mountain defiles mechanically, as
if buried in meditation, and that meditation not of the most
pleasing nature. His vizor was closed, but short clustering
curls, of a raven blackness, escaped beneath the helmet, and
almost concealed the white linen and finely embroidered collar
which lay over his gorget, and was secured in front by a ruby
clasp ; a thick plume of black feathers floated from his helmet,
rivalling in color the mane of his gallant charger, which pawed
the ground, and held his head aloft as if proud of the charge
he bore. A shield was slung round the warrior's neck, and its
device and motto seemed in melancholy accordance with the
rest of his attire. On a field argent lay the branch of a tree
proper, blasted and jagged, with the words " Ni nom ni paren,
je suis seul," rudely engraved in Norman French beneath ; his
helmet bore no crest, nor did his war-cry on the field, " Amiot
for the Bruce and freedom," offer any clue to the curious as to
his history, for that there was some history attached to him all
chose to believe, though the age was too full of excitement to
allow much of wonderment or curiosity to be expended upon
him. His golden spurs gave sufficient evidence that he was a
knjght ; his prowess on the field proclaimed whoever had given
him that honor had not bestowed it on the undeserving. His
deeds of daring, unequalled even in that age, obtained him fa-

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 337

vor in the eyes of every soldier ; and if there were some in the
court and camp of Bruce who were not quite satisfied, and
loved not the mystery which surrounded him, it mattered not,
Sir Amiot of the Branch, or the Lonely Chevalier, as he was
generally called, went on his way unquestioned.

" Said not Sir Edward Bruce he would meet us hereabouts
at set of sun ?" were the first words ' spoken by the knight, as,
on issuing from the mountains, they found themselves on a
broad plain to the east of Lanark, bearing sad tokens of a de-
vastating Avar, in the ruined and blackened huts which were the
only vestiges of human habitations near. The answer was in
the affirmative ; and the knight, after glancing in the direction
of the sun, which wanted about an hour to its setting, com-
manded a halt, and desired that, while waiting the arrival of
their comrades, they should take their evening meal.

On the instant the joyous sounds of dismounting, leading
horses to picquet, unclasping helmets, throwing aside the more
easily displaced portions of their armor, shields, and spears,
took the place of the steady tramp and well-ordered march.
Flinging themselves in various attitudes on the greensward,
provender was speedily laid before them, and rare wines and
other choice liquors, fruits of their late campaign, passed gayly
round. An esquire had, at the knight's sign, assisted him to
remove his helmet, shield, and gauntlets ; but though this re-
moval displayed a beautifully formed head, thickly covered
with dark hair, his features were still concealed by a species of
black mask, the mouth, chin, and eyes being alone visible, and
therefore his identity was effectually hidden. The mouth and
chin were both small and delicately formed ; the slight appear-
ance of beard and moustache seeming to denote his age as some
one-and-twenty years. His eyes, glancing through the open-
ing in the mask, were large and very dark, often flashing
brightly, when his outward bearing was so calm and quiet as
to afford little evidence of emotion. Some there were, indeed,
who believed the eye the truer index of the man than aught
else about him, and to fancy there was far more in that sad and
lonely knight than was revealed.

It was evident, however, that to the men now with him his
remaining so closely masked was no subject of surprise, that
they regarded it as an ordinary thing, which in consequence
had lost its strangeness. They were eager and respectful in

15

338 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

«

their manner towards him, offering to raise him a seat of turf
at some little distance from their noisy comrades ; but acknowl-
edging their attention with kindness and courtesy, he refused it,
and rousing himself with some difficulty from his desponding
thoughts, threw himself on the sward beside his men, and joined
in their mirth and jest. .

" Hast thou naught to tell to while away this tedious hour,
good Murdoch ?" he asked, after a while, addressing a gray-
headed veteran.

" Aye, aye, a tale, a tale ; thou hast seen more of the Bruce
than all of us together," repeated many eager voices, " and
knowest yet more of his deeds than we do ; a tale an thou wilt,
but of no other hero than the Bruce."

"The Bruce !" echoed the veteran ; " see ye not his deeds
yourselves, need ye more of them ?" but there was a sly twin-
kle in his eye that betrayed his love to speak was as great as
his comrades to hear him. " Have ye not heard, aye, and
many of you seen his adventures and escapes in Carrick, hunt-
ed even as he was by bloodhounds ; his .guarding that mount-
ain pass, one man against sixty, aye, absolutely alone against
the Galwegian host of men and bloodhounds ; Glen Fruin, Lou-
dun Hill, Aberdeen ; the harrying of Buchan ; charging the
treacherous foe, when they had to bear him from his litter to
his horse, aye, and support him there ; springing up from his
couch of pain, and suffering, and depression, agonizing to wit-
ness, to hurl vengeance on the fell traitors ; aye, and he did it,
and brought back health to his own heart and frame ; and For-
far, Lorn, Dunstaffnage — know ye not all these things ? Nay,
have ye not seen, shared in them all — what would ye more ?"

" The harrying of Buchan, tell us of that," loudly exclaimed
many voices ; while some others shouted, " the landing of the
Bruce — tell us of his landing, and the spirit fire at Turnberry
Head ; the strange woman that addressed him."

" Now which am I to tell, good my masters ?" laughingly
answered the old man, when the tumult in a degree subsided.
" A part of one, and part of the other, and leave ye to work
out the rest yourselves ; truly, a pleasant occupation. Say,
shall it be thus ? yet stay, what says Sir Amiot ?"

" As you will, my friends," answered the knight, cheerily ;
" but decide quickly, or we shall hear neither. I am for the
tale of Buchan," there was a peculiarly thrilling emphasis in his

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 339

tone as he pronounced the word, " for I was not in Scotland at
the time, and have heard but disjointed rumors of the expe-
dition."

The veteran looked round on his eager comrades with an air
of satisfaction, then clearing his voice, and "drawing more to the
centre of the group ; " Your worship knows," he began, ad-
dressing Sir Amiot, who, stretched at full length on the sward,
had fixed his eyes upon him, though their eagle glance was
partly shaded by his hand, " that our good King Robert the
Bruce, determined on the reduction of the north of his king-
dom, advanced thereto in the spring of 1308, accompanied by
his brother, Lord Edward, that right noble gentleman the Earl
of Lennox, Sir Gilbert Hay, Sir Robert Boyd, and others, with
a goodly show of men and arms, for his successes at Glen Fruin
and Loudun Hill had brought him a vast accession of loyal sub-
jects. And they were needed, your worship, of a truth, for the
traitorous Comyns had almost entire possession of the castles
and forts of the north, and thence were wont to pour down
their ravaging hordes upon the true Scotsmen, and menace the
king, till he scarcely knew which side to turn to first. Your
worship coming, I have heard, from the low country, can
scarcely know all the haunts and lurking-places for treason the
highlands of our country present ; how hordes of traitors may
be trained and armed in these remote districts, without the
smallest suspicion being attached to them till it is well-nigh too
late, and the mischief is done. Well, to drive out these black
villains, to free his kingdom, not alone from the yoke of an Eng-
lish Edward, but a Scottish Comyn, good King Robert was re-
solved— and even as he resolved he did. Inverness, the citadel
of treason and disloyalty, fell before him ; her defences, and
walls, and turrets, and towers, all dismantled and levelled, so as
to prevent all further harborage of treason ; her garrison
marched out, the ringleaders sent into secure quarters, and all
who hastened to offer homage and swear fidelity, received with
a courtesy and majesty which I dare to say did more for the
cause of our true king than a Comyn could ever do against it.
Other castles followed the fate of Inverness, till at length the
north, even as the south, acknowledged the Bruce, not alone
as their king, but as their deliverer and savior.

" It was while rejoicing over these glorious successes, the
lords and knights about the person of their sovereign began to

340 THE DAYS OF BEUCE.

note with great alarm that his strength seemed waning, his
brow often knit as with inward pain, his eye would grow dim,
and his limbs fail him, without a moment's warning ; and that
extreme depression would steal over his manly spirit even in the
very moment of success. They watched in alarm, but silently ;
and when they saw the renewed earnestness and activity with
which, on hearing of the approach of Comyn of Buchan, Sir
John de Mowbray, and that worst of traitors, his own nephew,
Sir David of Brechin, he rallied his forces, advanced to meet
them, and compelled them to retreat confusedly to Aberdeen,
they hoped they had been deceived, and all was well.

" But the fell disease gained ground ; at first he could not
guide his charger's reins, and then he could not mount at all ;
his voice failed, his sight passed ; they were compelled to lay
him in a litter, and bear him in the midst of them, and they felt
as if the void left by their sovereign's absence from their head
was filled with the dim shadow of death. Nobly and gallantly
did Lord Edward endeavor to remedy this fatal evil ; Lennox,
Hay, even the two Frasers, who had so lately joined the king,
seemed as if paralyzed by this new grief, and hung over the
Bruce's litter as if their strength waned with his. Sternly, nay,
at such a moment it seemed almost harshly, Lord Edward re-
buked this weakness, and, conducting them to Slenath, formed
some strong entrenchments, of which the Bruce's pavilion was
the centre, intending there to wait his brother's recovery. Ah,
my masters, if ye were not with good King Robert then, ye
have escaped the bitterest trial. Ye know not what it was to
behold him — the savior of his country, the darling of his
people, the noblest knight and bravest warrior who ever girded
on a sword — lie there, so pale, so faint, with scarce a voice or
passing sigh to say he breathed. The hand which grasped the
weal of Scotland, the arm that held her shield, lay nerveless as
the dead ; the brain which thought so well and wisely for his
fettered land, lay powerless and still ; the thrilling voice was
hushed, the flashing eye was closed. The foes were close
around him, and true friends in tears and woe beside his couch,
were all alike unknown. Ah ! then was the time for warrior's
tears, for men of iron frame and rugged mood to soften into
woman's woe, and weep. Men term Lord Edward Bruce so
harsh and stern, one whom naught of grief for others or him-
self can move ; they saw him not as I have. It was mine to

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 341

watch my sovereign, when others sought their rest ; and I have
seen that rugged chieftain stand beside his brother's couch
alone, unmarked, and struggle with his spirit till his brow hath
knit, his lip become convulsed, and then as if 'twere vain, all
vain, sink on his knee, clasp his sovereign's hand, and bow his
head and weep. Tis passed and over now, kind heaven be
praised ! yet I cannot recall that scene, unbind the folds of
memory, unmoved."

The old man passed his rough hand across his eyes, and for
a brief moment paused ; his comrades, themselves affected,
sought not to disturb him, and quickly he resumed.

" Days passed, and still King Robert gave no sign of amend-
ment, except, indeed, there were intervals when his eyes wan-
dered to the countenances of his leaders, as if he knew them,
and would fain have addressed them as his wont. Then it was
our men were annoyed by an incessant discharge from Buchan's
archers, which, though they could do perhaps no great evil, yet
wounded many of our men, and roused Lord Edward's spirit
to resent the insult. His determination to leave the entrench-
ments and retreat to Strathbogie, appeared at first an act of
such unparalleled daring as to startle all his brother leaders,
and they hesitated ; but there never was any long resisting Sir
Edward's plans ; he bears a spell no spirit with a spark of gal-
lantry about him can resist. The retreat was in consequence
determined on, to the great glee of our men, who were tired of
inaction, and imagined they should feel their sovereign's suffer-
ings less if engaged hand to hand with the foe, in his service,
than watching him as they had lately done, and dreading yet.
greater evils.

" Ye have heard of this daring retreat, my friends ; it was in
the mouth of every Scotsman, aye, and of Englishman too, for
King Robert himself never accomplished a deed of greater skill.
The king's litter was placed in the centre of a square, which
presented on either side such an impenetrable fence of spears
and shields, that though Buchan and De Mowbray mustered
more than double our number, they never ventured an attack,
and a retreat, apparently threatening total destruction, from its
varied dangers, was accomplished without the loss of a single
man. At Strathbogie we halted but a short space, for finding
no obstruction in our path, we hastened southward, in the di-
rection of Inverury ; there we pitched the tent for the king,

34:2 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

and, taking advantage of a natural fortification, dispersed our
men around it, still in a compact square. Soon after this had
been accomplished, news was received that our foes were con-
centrating their numerous forces at Old Meldrum, scarcely two
miles from us, and consequently we must hold ourselves in con-
stant readiness to receive their attack.

" Well, the news that the enemy was so near us might not
perhaps have been particularly pleasing, had they not been
more than balanced by the conviction — far more precious than
a large reinforcement, for in itself it was a host — the king was
recovering. Yes, scarcely as we dared hope, much less believe
it, the disease, which had fairly baffled all the leech's art, which
had hung over our idolized monarch so long, at length showed
symptoms of giving way, and there was as great rejoicing in the
camp as if neither danger nor misfortune could assail us more ;
a new spirit sparkled in every eye, as if the awakening lustre
in the Bruce's glance, the still faint, yet thrilling accents of a
voice we had feared was hushed forever, had lighted on every
heart, and kindled anew their slumbering fire. One day, Lord
Edward, the Earl of Lennox, and a gallant party, were absent
scouring the country about half a mile round our entrench-
ments, and in consequence, one side of our square w*s more
than usually open, but we did not think it signified, for there
were no tidings of the enemy ; well, this day the king had
called me to him, and bade me relate the particulars of the re-
treat, which I was proud enough to do, my masters, and which
of you would not be, speaking as I did with our gallant sov-
ereign as friend with friend ?"

" Aye, and does he not make us all feel this ?" burst simul-
taneously from many voices ; " does he not speak, and treat us
all as if we were his friends, and not his subjects only ? Thine
was a proud task, good Murdoch, but which of us has good
King Robert not addressed with kindly words and proffered
hand ?"

" Right ! right !" joyously responded the old man ; " still
I say that hour was one of the proudest in my life, and an
eventful one too for Scotland ere it closed. King Robert heard
me with flashing eye and kindling cheek, and his voice, as he
burst forth in high praise and love for his daring brother,
sounded almost as strong and thrilling as was its wonfc in
health ; just then a struggle was heard without the tent, a

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 343

scuffle, as of a skirmish, confused voices, clashing of weapons,
and war-cries. Up started the king, with eagle glance and
eager tone. ' My arras/ he cried, ' bring me my arms ! Ha !
hear ye that ?' and sure enough, ' St. David for De Brechin,
and down with the Bruce !' resounded so close, that it seemed
as if but the curtain separated the traitor from his kinsman and
his king. Never saw I the Bruce so fearfully aroused, the rage
of the lion was upon him. ' Hear ye that ?' he repeated, as,
despite my remonstrances, and those of the officers who rushed
into the tent, he sprang from the couch, and, with the rapidity
of light, assumed his long-neglected armor. ' The traitorous
villain ! would he beard me to my teeth ? By the heaven
above us, he shall rue this insolence ! Bring me my charger.
Beaten off, say ye ? I doubt it not, my gallant friends ; but it
is now the Brace's turn, his kindred traitors are not far off, and
we would try their mettle now. Nay, restrain me not, these
folk will work a cure for me — there, I am a man again !' and
as he stood upright, sheathed in his glittering mail, his drawn
sword in his gauntleted hand, a wild shout of irrepressible joy
burst from us all, and, caught up by the soldiers without the
tent, echoed and re-echoed through the camp. The sudden
appearance of the Brace's charger, caparisoned for battle,
standing before his master's tent, the drums rolling for the
muster, the lightning speed with which Sir Edward Bruce,
Lennox, and Hay, after dispersing De Brechin's troop, as dust
on the plain, galloped to the royal pavilion, themselves equally
at a loss to understand the bustle there, all prepared the men-
at-arms for what was to come. Eagerly did the gallant knights
remonstrate with their sovereign, conjure him to follow the
battle in his litter, rather than attempt to mount his charger ;
they besought him to think what his life, his safety was to
them, and not so rashly risk it. Lord Edward did entreat him
to reserve his strength till there was more need ; the field was.
then clear, the foes had not appeared ; but all in vain their elo-
quence, the king combated it all. 'We will go seek them,
brother,' cheerily answered the king ; ' we will go tell them
insult to the Bruce passes not unanswered. On, on, gallant
knights, our men wax impatient.' Hastening from the tent, he
stood one moment in the sight of all his men : removing his
helmet, he smiled a gladsome greeting. Oh, what a shout
rung forth from those iron ranks ! There was that noble face,

344 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

pale, attenuated indeed, but beaming on them in all its wonted
animation, confidence, and love ; there was that majestic form
towering again in its princely dignity, seeming the nobler from
being so long unseen. Again and again that shout arose, till
the wild birds rose screaming over our heads, in untuned, yet
exciting chorus. Nor did the fact that the king, strengthened
as he was by his own glorious soul, had in reality not bodily
force enough to mount his horse without support, take from
the enthusiasm of his men, nay, it was heightened and excited
to the wildest pitch. ' For Scotland and freedom !' shouted
the king, as for one moment he rose in his stirrups and waved
his bright blade above his head. ' For Bruce and Scotland !'
swelled the answering shout. We formed, we gathered in
compact array around our leaders, loudly clashed our swords
against our shields ; we marched a brief while slowly and ma-
jestically along the plain ; we neared the foe, who, with its
multitude in terrible array, awaited our coming ; we saw, we
hurled defiance in a shout which rent the very air. Quicker
and yet quicker we advanced ; on, on — we scoured the dusty
plain, we pressed, we flew, we rushed upon the foe ; the Bruce
was at our head, and with him victory. We burst through
their ranks ; we compelled them, at the sword's point, to turn
and fight even to the death ; we followed them foot to foot,
and hand to hand, disputing every inch of ground ; they sought
to retreat, to fly — but no ! Five miles of Scottish ground, five
good broad miles, was that battle-field ; the enemy lay dead
in heaps upon the field, the remainder fled."

" And the king !" exclaimed the knight of the mask, half
springing up in the excitement the old man's tale had aroused.
" How bore he this day's wondrous deed — was not his strength
exhausted anew ?"

" Aye, what of the king ?" repeated many of the soldiers,
who had held their very breath while the veteran spoke, and
clenched their swords, as if they were joining in the strife he
so energetically described.

" The king, my masters," replied Murdoch, " why, if it could
be, he looked yet more the mighty warrior at the close than at
the commencement of the work. WTe had seen him the first in
the charge, in the pursuit ; we had marked his white plume
waving above all others, where the strife waxed hottest ; and
when we gathered round him, when the fight was done, he was

THE DAYS OF BKUCE. 345

seated on the ground in truth, and there was the dew of ex-
treme fatigue on his brow — he had flung aside his helmet —
and his cheek was hotly flushed, and his voice, as he thanked
us for our gallant conduct, and bade us return thanks to heav-
en for this great victory, was somewhat quivering ; but for all
that, my masters, he looked still the warrior and the king, and
his voice grew firmer and louder as he bade us have no fears
for him. He dismissed us with our hearts as full of joy and
love for him as of triumph on our humbled foes."

" No doubt," responded many voices ; " but Buchan, Mow-
bray, De Brechin — what came of them — were they left on the
field ?"

" They fled, loving their lives better than their honor ; they
fled, like cowards as they were. The two first slackened not
their speed till they stood on English ground. De Brechin, ye
know, held out Angus as long as he could, and was finally
made captive."

" Aye, and treated with far greater lenity than the villain
deserved. He will never be a Randolph."

" A Randolph ! Not a footboy in Randolph's train but is
more Randolph than he. But thou sayest Buchan slackened
not rein till he reached English ground ; he lingered long enough
for yet blacker treachery, if rumor speaks aright. Was it not
said the king's life was attempted by his orders, and by one of
the Comyn's own followers ?"

" Ha !" escaped Sir Amiot's lips. " Say they this ?" but
he evidently had spoken involuntarily, for the momentary agita-
tion which had accompanied the words was instantly and forci-
bly suppressed.

" Aye, your worship, and it is true," replied the veteran.
" It was two nights after the battle. All the camp was at
rest ; I was occupied as usual, by my honored watch in my
sovereign's tent. The king was sleeping soundly, and a strange
drowsiness appeared creeping over me too, confusing all my
thoughts. At first I imagined the wind was agitating a certain
corner of the tent, and my eyes, half asleep and half wakeful,
became fascinated upon it ; presently, what seemed a bale of
carpets, only doubled up in an extraordinary small space, ap-
peared within the drapery. It moved; my senses were in-
stantly aroused. Slowly and cautiously the bale grew taller,
then the unfolding carpet fell, and a short, well-knit, muscular

15*

346 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

form appeared. He was clothed in those padded jerkins and
hose, plaited with steel, which are usual to those of his rank ;
the steel, however, this night was covered with thin, black
stuff, evidently to assist concealment. He looked cautiously
around him. I had creeped noiselessly, and on all fours, with-
in the shadow of the king's couch, where I could observe the
villain's movements myself unseen. I saw a gleam of triumph
twinkle in his eye, so sure he seemed of his intended victim.
He advanced ; his dagger flashed above the Bruce. With one
bound, one shout, I sprang on the murderous wretch, wrenched
the dagger from his grasp, and dashed him to the earth. He
struggled, but in vain ; the king started from that deep slum-
ber, one moment gazed around him bewildered, the next was
on his feet, and by my side. The soldiers rushed into the tent,
and confusion for the moment waxed loud and warm ; but the
king quelled it with a word. The villain was raised, pinioned,
brought before the Bruce, who sternly demanded what was his
intent, and who was his employer. Awhile the miscreant
paused, but then, as if spell-bound by the flashing orb upon
him, confessed the whole, aye, and more ; that his master, the
Earl of Buchan, had sworn a deep and deadly oath to relax
not in his hot pursuit till the life-blood of the Bruce had
avenged the death of the Red Comyn, and that, though he
had escaped now, he must fall at length, for the whole race of
Comyn had joined hands upon their chieftain's oath. The
brow of the king grew dark, terrible wrath beamed from his
eyes, and it seemed for the moment as if he would deliver up
the murderous villain into the hands that yearned to tear him
piecemeal. There was a struggle, brief yet terrible, then he
spoke, and calmly, yet with a bitter stinging scorn.

"'And this is Buchan's oath,' he said. ' Ha! doth he not
bravely, my friends, to fly the battle-field, to shun us there,
that hireling hands may do a deed he dares not ? For this
poor fool, what shall we do with him ?'

" ' Death, death — torture and death ! what else befits the
sacrilegious traitor ?' burst from many voices, pressing forward
to seize and bear him from the tent ; but the king signed them
to forbear, and oh, what a smile took the place of his previous
scorn !

" ' And I say neither torture nor death, my friends,' he
cried. ' What, are we sunk so low, as to revenge this insult

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 347

on a mere tool, the instrument of a villainous master ? No,
no ! let him go free, and tell his lord how little the Bruce
heeds him ; that guarded as he is by a free people's love, "were
the race of Comyn as powerful and numerous as England's
self, their oath would avail them nothing. Let the poor fool
go free !'

" A deep, wild murmur ran through the now crowded tent,
and so mingled were the tones of applause and execration, we
knew not which the most prevailed.

" ' And shall there be no vengeance for this dastard deed ?'
at length the deep, full voice of Lord Edward Bruce arose,
distinct above the rest. ' Shall the Bruce sit tamely down to
await the working of the villain oath, and bid its tools go free,
filling the whole land with well-trained murderers? Shall
Buchan pass scathless, to weave yet darker, more atrocious
schemes ?'

" ' Brother, no,' frankly rejoined the king. ' We will make
free to go and visit our friends in Buchan, and there, an thou
wilt, thou shalt pay them in coin for their kindly intents and
deeds towards us ; but for this poor fool, again I say, let him
go free. Misery and death, God wot, we are compelled to for
our country's sake, let us spare where but our own person is
endangered.'

" And they let him free, my masters, unwise as it seemed to
us ; none could gainsay our sovereign's words. Sullen to the
last, the only symptom of gratitude he vouchsafed was to mut-
ter forth, in answer to the Bruce's warning words to hie him
to his comrades in Buchan, and bid them, an they feared fire
and devastation, to fly without delay, ' Aye, only thus mayest
thou hope to exterminate the traitors ; pity none, spare none.
The whole district of Buchan is peopled by the Comyn, bound
by this oath of blood,' and thus he departed."

" And spoke he truth ?" demanded Sir Amiot, hoarsely, and
with an agitation that, had others more suspicious been with
him, must have been remarked, although forcibly and painfully
suppressed ; " spoke he truth ? Methought the district of
Buchan had only within the last century belonged to the Co-
myn, and that the descendants of the Countess Margaret's
vassals still kept apart, loving not the intermixture of another
clan. Said they not it was on this account the Countess of
Buchan had exercised such influence, and herself headed a gal-

34:8 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

lant troop at the first rising of the Bruce ? an the villain spoke
truth, whence came this change ?"

" Why, for that matter, your worship, it is easy enough ex-
plained," answered Murdoch, " and, trust me, King Robert set
inquiries enough afloat ere he commenced his scheme of retalia-
tion. Had there been one of the Lady Isabella's own followers
there, one who, in her name, claimed his protection, he would
have given it ; not a hair of their heads would have been in-
jured ; but there were none of these, your worship. The few
of the original clan which had not joined him were scattered
all over the country, mingling wtth other loyal clans ; their
own master had hunted them away, when he came down to
his own districts, just before the capture of his wife and son.
He filled the Tower of Buchan with his own creatures, scat-
tered the Comyns all over the land, with express commands to
attack, hunt, or resist all of the name of Bruce to the last ebb
of their existence. He left amongst them officers and knights
as traitorous, and spirits well-nigh as evil as his own, and they
obeyed him to the letter, for amongst the most inveterate, the
most treacherous, and most dishonorable persecutors of the
Bruce stood first and foremost the Comyns of Buchan. Ah !
the land was changed from the time when the noble countess
held sway there, and so they felt to their cost.

" It was a grand yet fearful sight, those low hanging woods
and glens all in one flame ; the spring had been particularly
dry and windy, and the branches caught almost with a spark,
and crackled and sparkled, and blazed, and roared, till for miles
round we could see and hear the work of devastation. Aye,
the coward earl little knew what was passing in his territories,
while he congratulated himself on his safe flight into England.
It was a just vengeance, a deserved though terrible retaliation,
and the king felt it as such, my masters. He had borne with
the villains as long as he could, and would have borne with
them still, had he not truly felt nothing would quench their
enmity, and in consequence secure Scotland's peace and safety,
but their utter extermination, and all the time he regretted it,
I know, for there was a terrible look of sternness and deter-
mination about him while the work lasted ; he never relaxed
into a smile, he never uttered a jovial word, and we followed
him, our own wild spirits awed into unwonted silence. There
was not a vestige of natural or human life in the district — all

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 349

was one mass of black, discolored ashes, utter ruin and appall-
ing devastation. Not a tower of Buchan remains."

" All — sayest thou all ?" said Sir Amiot, suddenly, yet slow-
ly, and with difficulty. " Left not the Bruce one to bear his
standard, and thus mark his power?"

" Has not your worship remarked that such is never the
Bruce's policy ? Three years ago, he had not force enough
to fortify the castles he took from the English, and leaving
them standing did but offer safe harbors for the foe, so it was
ever his custom to dismantle, as utterly to prevent their re-
establishment ; and if he did this with the castles of his own
friends, who all, as the Douglas saith, ' love better to hear the
lark sing than the mouse squeak,' it was not likely he would
spare Buchan's. But there was one castle, I remember, cost
him a bitter struggle to demolish. It was the central fortress
of the district, distinguished, I believe, by the name of ' the
Tower of Buchan,' and had been the residence of that right
noble lady, the Countess Isabella and her children. Nay, from
what I overheard his grace say to Lord Edward, it had formerly
given him shelter and right noble hospitality, and a dearer, more
precious remembrance still to his noble heart — it had been for
many months the happy home of his brother, Sir Nigel, and
we know what magic power all associated with him has upon
the king ; and had it not been for the expostulations of Lord
Edward, his roygh yet earnest entreaty, methinks that fortress
had been standing yet. That sternness, terrible to behold, for
it ever tells of some mighty inward passions conquered, again
gathered on our sovereign's brow, but he turned his charger's
head, and left to Lord Edward the destruction of the fortress,
and he made quick work of it ; you will scarce find two stones
together of its walls."

" He counselled right," echoed many voices, the eagerness
with which they had listened, and now spoke, effectually turn-
ing their attention from their mysterious leader, who at old
Murdoch's last words had with difficulty prevented the utter-
ance of a deep groan, and then, as if startled at his own emo-
tion, sprung up from his reclining posture, and joined his voice
to those of his men. " He counselled, and did rightly," they
repeated ; "it would have been an ill deed to spare a traitor's
den for such softening thoughts. Could we but free the
Countess Isabella, she would not want a home in Buchan —

350 THE DAYS OF BKUCE.

nay, the further from her cruel husband's territories the better ;
and for her children — the one, poor innocent, is cared for, and
the other — "

" Aye, my masters, and trust me, that other was in our sov-
ereign's heart as forcibly as the memories he spoke. That
which we know now concerning him was then undreamed of ;
it was only faintly rumored that Lord Douglas had been de-
ceived, and Alan of Buchan had not fallen by a father's hand,
or at least by his orders ; that he was in life, in close confine-
ment ; my old ears did catch something of this import from
the king, as he spoke with his brother."

" What import ?" asked Sir Amiot, hoarsely.

" Only, your worship, that, for the sake of the young heir of
Buchan, he wished that such total devastation could have been
spared ; if he were really in life, as rumor said, it was hard to
act as if he were forgotten by his friends."

" And what was Sir Edward's reply ?"

" First, that he doubted the rumor altogether ; secondly, that
if he did return to the king, his loss might be more than made
up ; and thirdly, that it was more than probable that, young
as he was, if he really did live, the arts of his father would
prevail, and he would purchase his freedom by homage and
fidelity to England."

" Ha ! said he so — and the king ?"

" Did not then think with him, nay, declared he would stake
his right hand that the boy, young as he was, had too much
of his mother's noble spirit for such a deed. It was well the
stake was not accepted, for, by St. Andrew, as the tale now
goes, King Robert would have lost."

" As the tale now goes, thou unbelieving skeptic," replied
one of his comrades, laughing ; " has not the gallant been
seen, recognized — is he not known as one of King Edward's
minions, and lords it bravely ? But hark ! there are chargers
pricking over the plain. Hurrah ! Sir Edward and Lord
James," and on came a large body of troopers and infantry
even as he spoke.

Up started Sir Amiot's men in eager readiness to greet and
join ; their armor and weapons they had laid aside were re-
sumed, and ere their comrades reached them all were in read-
iness. Sir Amiot, attended by his esquires and a page, gal-
loped forward, and the two knights, perceiving his advance,

THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 351

spurred on before their men, and hasty and cordial greetings
were exchanged. We should perhaps note that Sir Amiot's
manner slightly differed in his salutation of the two knights.
To Lord Edward Bruce he was eager, frank, cordial, as that
knight himself; to the other, whom one glance proclaimed as
the renowned James Lord Douglas, there was an appearance
of pride or reserve, and it seemed an effort to speak with him
at all. Douglas perhaps did not perceive this, or was accus-
tomed to it, for it seemed to affect him little ; and Lord Ed-
ward's bluff address prevented all manifestation of difference
between his colleagues, even if there existed any.

" Ready to mount and ride ; why that's well," he cried.
" We are beyond our time, but it is little reck, we need but
spur the faster, which our men seem all inclined to do. What
news ? why, none since we parted, save that his grace has re-
solved on the siege of Perth without further delay."

" Nay, but that is news, so please you," replied Sir Amiot.
"When I parted from his grace, there was no talk of it."

" There was talk of it, but no certainty ; for our royal broth-
er kept his own counsel, and spoke not of this much-desired
event till his way lay clear before him. There have been
some turbulent spirits in the camp — your humble servant, this
black lord, and Randolph amongst them — who in truth con-
spired to let his grace know no peace by night or day till this
object was attained ; but our prudent monarch gave us little
heed till his wiser brain arranged the matters we but burned
to execute."

" And what, think you, fixed this resolve ?"

" Simply that for a time we are clear of English thieves and
Norman rogues, and can march northward, and sit down before
Perth without fear of being called southward again. Edward
will have enow on his hands to keep his own frontiers from in-
vasion ; 'twill be some time ere he see the extent of our ven-
geance, and meanwhile our drift is gained."

" Aye, it were a sin and crying shame to let Perth remain
longer in English hands," rejoined Douglas ; " strongly garri-
soned it may be ; but what matter ?"

" What matter ! why, 'tis great matter," replied Sir Edward,
joyously. " What glory were it to sit down before a place and
take it at first charge ? No, give me good fighting, tough as-
sault, and brave defence. Think you I would have so urged

352 THE DAYS OF BRUCE.

the king, did I not scent a glorious straggle before the walls ?
Strongly garrisoned ! I would not give one link of this gold
chain for it, were it not. But a truce to this idle parley ; we
must make some miles ere nightfall. Sir Knight of the Branch,
do your men need further rest ? if not, give the word, and let
them fall in with their comrades, and on."

" Whither ?" demanded Sir Amiot, as he gave the required
orders. " Where meet we the king ?"

" In the Glen of Auchterader, south of the Erne. Lady
Campbell and Isoline await us there, with the troops left as
their guard at Dumbarton. So you perceive our friend Lord
Douglas here hath double cause to use the spur ; times like
these afford little leisure for wooing, and such love-stricken
gallants as himself must e'en make the most of them."

" And trust me for doing so," laughingly rejoined Douglas.
" Scoff at me as you will, Edward, your time will come."

" Not it," answered the warrior ; " glory is my mistress. I
love better to clasp my true steel than the softest and fairest
hand in Christendom ; to caress my noble steed and twine my
hand thus in his flowing mane, and feel that he bears me gal-
lantly and proudly wherever my spirit lists, than to press sweet
kisses on a rosy lip, imprisoned by a woman's smile."

" Nay, shame on thee !" replied Douglas, still jestingly.
" Thou a true knight, and speak thus ; were there not other
work to do, I would e'en run a tilt with thee, to compel thee
to forswear thy foul treason against the fair."

" Better spend thy leisure in wooing Isoline ; trust me, she
will not be won ere wooed. How now, Sir Knight of the
Branch, has the fiend melancholy taken possession of thee
again ? give her a thrust with thy lance, good friend, and un-
seat her. Come, soul of fire as thou art in battle, why dost
thou mope in ashes in peace ? Thou speakest neither for
nor against these matters of love ; wilt woo or scorn the little
god?"

"Perchance both, perchance neither," replied the knight,
and his voice sounded sadly, though he evidently sought to
speak in jest. He had fallen back from the side of Douglas
during the previous conversation, but the flashing eye denoted
that it had passed not unremarked. He now rode up to the
side of Lord Edward, keeping a good spear's length from Lord
James, and their converse turning on martial subjects, became

THE DATS OF BRUCE. 353

more general. Their march being performed without any in-
cident ofk note, we will, instead of following them, take a brief
retrospective glance on those historical events which had so
completely and gloriously turned the fate of Scotland and her
patriots, in those five years which the thread of our narrative
compels us to leave a blank.

END OF VOL. I.

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